The Gods' Plot
by Geriatric Yoda
Summary: S1E1: The Doctor and Martha crash in Ancient Egypt only to find something terrible. Have the gods come to Earth? If so - and if not - what could they possibly want? And what sinister secrets lie within the temple? Epilogue UP! R&R, I review back!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

In this place, all was quiet and still as it waited for the return of its master and his companion, the lights on its hexagonal control consoles pulsing softly in hues of reds, greens and yellows, its innards of wires, circuit boards and other indescribable contrivances humming in quiet harmony.

Harmony that was abruptly broken as the TARDIS detected the rapid approach of two lifeforms on its perimeter scanners, one of which bore the double-heartbeat of its owner. It unlocked the door to muffled shouts, cracks and bangs.

It wasn't long before the doors were flung open and a young black woman was pushed through rather unceremoniously, stumbling backwards up the ramp. She was quickly followed by what _seemed_ to be a slightly older man, but who exuded a sense of wisdom far beyond his years. He backed hurriedly through the door, his eyes and attention drawn to what was outside, hounding them. As another crack rang out, ricocheting above his head, the man jumped back despite himself, slamming into his companion and sending them both sprawling to the floor in a heap.

Crying out in alarm, he disentangled himself quickly and kicked out a sneakered foot to close the doors behind him, more shots and shouts answering his actions as they banged closed and locked automatically. The gunfire continued unabated as the two of them picked themselves off the floor and checked for injuries. When none presented themselves they caught each other's eye, remembered how close they'd just been and backed away from each other wordlessly, their faces saying everything.

Running a hand through his ruffled head of brown hair, the man looked around him absentmindedly. "Should have known this was going to happen," he muttered darkly to himself, "and, I mean, why not? It's not like trouble ever had a problem finding us before, why should now be any different…and did I ever mention how much I hate – positively _loathe­_ – guns?" as if in answer another shot rang-out, this one cracking distinctively against the door. "_Please tell me that wasn't one of my windows_?" he groaned. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get those replaced; over half a billion – no, _gazillion_ – glaziers throughout time and space, and not one of them can fit a police box window, silly really – sorry," he seemed to snap back to reality, "where were we?" _Bang!_ "Oh, yes! Getting out of here, right now!"

Just like that, he was over by the controls, his hands flying as if with a mind of their own. Looking at him, standing tall in his smart blue suit, without much serious care for the dangers outside, the woman couldn't help but be amused; sometimes it seemed that he never moved, that he simply disappeared and reappeared somewhere else entirely.

"Sounds great," she assured him hurriedly as the shots picked up their relentless assault. "_Really_ great! Where to?"

"Somewhere without guns!" he cried, looking up from the console as he slammed his palm down on the final button in the sequence. Almost instantly, the humming picked-up and intensified as the central column glowed brightly, a contraption within rising and deflating like bellows. The noise outside didn't so much fade away as get drowned out by the time machine as it picked them up and out of reality and pitched them both into the space-time continuum.

The man in the blue suit frowned despite their newfound safety. "Not a lot of places I know of that can fix Time Lord technology, either," he mused softly, staring off into the distance, "looks like I'll be getting my hands dirty for a _lifetime_…"

"Sorry," the woman threw up her hands, "what just happened back there?"

"You just got your wish, Martha, that's what."

Martha Jones scowled at him, "_I_ asked for music, for culture, for history. I don't remember asking to be _shot_ at by all of Dick Tracey's enemies!"

"Naaah, they weren't nearly colourful enough," he shook his head slightly as he leant back on the railing. "Besides, you can't honestly expect to visit America's Great Jazz Age and _not_ get shot at. It just went together, like…like chalk and cheese!" he caught himself, frowned, and looked to her, "What does that mean, by the way? 'Chalk and cheese'? I never figured it out… the two don't go together at all - unless you're a Happlegant from the Zantax system, _then_ maybe..."

"Excuse me, Doctor," Martha interjected firmly, "but last I heard, the history books never mentioned musicians packing a tuba and a Tommy gun!"

"_Yeess_, but they do mention that the Jazz Age was twinned with America's Prohibition Era, both sharing the years from 1920-29. Quite often, in fact – a _lot_, actually: gangsters, smuggling, bootlegging, gunrunning, _concrete shoes_…and, for the record, Martha? Probably not such a wise decision, telling Mr. Capone to his face that his beloved Jazz 'isn't all that.' He _may_ have just taken offence at that."

"Oh, you really think – wait, Capone? As in, _Al_ Capone?"

"Uh-huh, the most powerful crime lord of the Prohibition, and quite the lover of a good sax solo, it would seem. Those," at this the Doctor motioned towards the door even though no one was outside any longer, "were his men, I shouldn't reckon."

"Ah, well, that sure explains everything…so," Martha piped-up with feigned happiness, eager to change the subject, "where are we going, again?"

"Egypt!" grinned the Doctor, clapping his hands together excitedly. "The reign of Ramesses II, also known as 'Ramesses the Great', third Pharaoh of Egypt in its Nineteenth Dynasty…which would place us," he drew out this last word as he consulted the chronometer, "Yep! Martha, we'll soon be arriving in the year 1215 BC!" his eyes narrowed, considering this statement. "Isn't this the furthest back I've taken you?"

"I've lost track of the dates, Doctor," she grinned with a shrug.

"Anyway, I don't know why the TARDIS is taking us there – I set the flight for emergency escape, which allowed her to choose wherever she pleased – but I don't care, honestly, because there aren't any guns _waaay_ back then, which is always good! Mind you," he murmured, "some of those spears can give you a nasty nip…"

The TARDIS landed with a jarring, unbalanced groan, throwing Martha off her feet for the second time in as many minutes. The Doctor only avoided a similar fate by gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white as bone. "Now, that's _never_ a good sign," he muttered as the whole room continued to rock and lurch.

Then everything turned on its side and almost upside-down as a rumbling like an earthquake came over the TARDIS, sparks, debris and personal belongings flying through the air, showering down around Martha and the Doctor as they hung on for dear life.

"_Do_ something!" she screamed desperately above the shriek and grinding of beaten machinery.

"_Like what_? I can't reach the anything to _do_ anything!" he roared back as the shower of sparks burned black, smouldering dots in his suit. "Looks like we'll just have to ride –"

And, just like that, all was still.

" – it out…Ha-ha, see?" he cheered up immediately, unfazed in an instant.

"Great, Doctor, just great."

"Uh-huh!" there was that mad, beaming grin again.

"But we're still upside-down."

"That we are, Martha, that…we are," there was no denying it. "But at least I should be able to reach…the," he threw out a hand towards the central consoles, fingers splayed in a vain effort to lengthen his reach. They crawled over buttons somewhat gingerly before coming to rest on a particular lever, which he gripped and pulled in one swift motion. "The Automatic Landing Stabilisers! Got it…"

"And what exactly does the Automatic Land Stabiliser –"

The TARDIS seemed to blink out of existence for a split-second, before reappearing the right way up…and several feet below them, the Doctor and Martha falling back to the floor awkwardly.

" – do? And _ow_!"

"Plucks the TARDIS out and back into time so quickly the human mind barely registers it. In that time it simple rights itself, although I could have sworn I'd made modifications exactly so we _wouldn't_ end up in the air," rubbing his aching elbows, the Doctor stepped back to the console nearest him and gave it a quick look. Then he did a double take and smiled broadly. "Oh…oh, we _didn't_."

"Didn't what?" Martha groaned as she picked herself up off the floor.

"We did!"

"Okay, so we _did_ what?" she corrected herself.

"We, Martha Jones, have just – uh, well I suppose _surfed_ is as good a word as any, yeah – _surfed_ down the side of the Pyramid of Giza!"

"We didn't…"

"Didn't we just go through this?" the Doctor grinned cheekily. "Yes, we did…one of Capone's monkeys must have struck the TADIS' landing gear, so to speak, because she got all confused and plonked us right smack-bang on the tip of the Pyramid! Can you _believe_ that?"

"No," Martha sighed with a warm smile of her own. "But I think I'm getting used to that…"

"Really?" he blinked at her curiously. "Because I've been doing this for nigh on _nine hundred_ years, and even I don't believe it."

"I must just be more adaptable than you," she told him with joking smugness.

"Ye-eah…tell you what, change into something more suitable –"

"Excuse me?"

"Something lighter, it's terribly hot out there."

"Oh…"

" – Yeah, change and we can – what _now?_"

His attention was drawn to the doors, where a soft, tentative knocking was coming. He looked to Martha, eyebrow raised. "Who on Earth could that be?" he murmured, stroking his chin curiously, his eyes bearing into the doors as if trying to see through them. When this totally failed to produce results, and the knocking went on unabated for almost thirty seconds, he broke himself out of his trance, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Guess I better find out, really."

In a heartbeat, he was over by the door and, with an excited glance back at Martha, quickly flung them open. Standing in wide-eyed wonder, he smiled amiably at someone out of her sight. "Oh, _hello_! Yes…uh-huh…well, that is a good question, now isn't it?"

"Who are they, Doc – _ow_!" Martha cried out as she stood beside him, rubbing her ribs from where he had hastily elbowed her. "Okay, what do they want, then?"

"These nomads –" _that_ caused a bit of an outburst from the trio of rugged men standing just outside the TARDIS. " – sorry, _merchants_…well, they were just asking if we were okay and if they could give us a lift to the nearest city, which I believe is _Cairo_."

"A lift? On what?"

A guttural moan drew her attention out over the merchants' shoulders where a small band of camels were standing, lashed to trees that looked radically out of place in the desert. "You have got to be joking."

"_Manners_, Martha," the merchant on the far-right whispered urgently to the central figure, who in turn relayed the question to the Doctor in a tongue Martha was surprised the TARDIS failed to translate for her. "Sorry, did you says _others_?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The merchant nodded. "That can't be right…"

"What?"

"Must be superstitious rumour…"

"_What_?"

"It's impossible…"

"_What?!_"

"Oh, right, sorry…these merchants want to know if us," he paused, eyeing the three merchants for confirmation, "_gods_ are here to meet with the others."

"Other what?" asked his companion weakly, already dreading the answer.

"_Gods_…"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Outside the large, sandstone building, all was a maelstrom of swirling, blistering sand as the terrible storm howled through streets and domiciles alike. But, inside the temple, all was still, all was calm. Not even the slightest breeze passed through, the torches lining the side-walls blazing brightly and tall, clearly illuminating the columns that likewise lined the outer temple room.

The large, timber doors groaned as they were pushed against the pounding wind outside, finally slamming shut as the men who had closed it collapsed against it, panting heavily. Dressed in nothing more than white linen that stretched from their waists to their feet, sweat glistened on their naked torsos, the heavy black eye-liner they ceremoniously wore starting to run with the beads of perspiration that dripped down their bald heads and into their faces.

"It's not _right_," one grunted, sliding down into a seated position on the floor, "To deny sanctuary, shelter, during a storm of such ferocity."

"It is the will of the gods," intoned the _Hem netjer_, the High Priest of the temple piously, "that worshippers, common peasants, should not be allowed beyond the outer courtyard. And now, more than ever – as the great day draws closer – that their will is law."

At this statement the rest of the priests bowed their heads and retreated, each making their way to their own little spaces of worship, leaving the Hem netjer alone with the outspoken priest. "You mean to question our gods?" he asked finally, eyes reduced to slits.

"O-of course not, High Priest Mepheses. Such...such foolishness would not be wise," the younger priest stammered, the last thing on his mind being to anger the gods of this temple as he eyed the man who now stood before him, more with fear than the usual respect. "Forgive me..."

"And yet you speak out against their will."

"Not _against_ them, merely wondering why. Surely one is allowed to ponder the ins-and-outs of his religion?"

"Such wonderments would be best left to the heretics and philosophers. We live to serve the gods, Aruk," Mepheses snarled with unrestrained venom, his eyes rolling up into the back of their sockets, their whites glowing fiercely despite the heavy shadows falling upon his face. "_Wordlessly_. You have broken that silence, little man..."

Every torch in the temple dimmed, flickered and then roiled violently against the stillness as their natural light was quashed by that of an unnatural emerald glow that shone from the ceiling of the temple, gently pulsating and growing stronger with every pulse. Priest Aruk groaned, scrabbling to his feet to quell in fear under the High Priest's abnormal glare, his only hope escaped closed behind him, and impossible to open alone.

"P-please...please, no..."

"The gods have come to judge your insolence, Aruk," Mepheses threw his arms wide, his head snapping back to stare blankly at the high ceiling enshrouded in the green hues. "And you know they do no suffer fools..._lightly_."

"No!" but it was too late; before he could move, duck or bolt, Aruk's head was gripped tightly by the vice-like grip of the Hem netjer. His screams lasted a full five seconds.

Then, all was silent; Aruk was still standing, still alive. He was standing straight, arms hung limp at his sides. Only his eyes remained active, wide and filled with fear, rolling around as figures emerged from the shadows of the pillars all around him.

They were his beliefs made nightmarish reality and, upon witnessing them, Aruk's mind raced to find a logical answer as to why he had ever found the very idea of them something to be revered, admired, to be worshipped when they were so obviously monstrosities to be feared, avoided, _left alone._

They were his gods made flesh, and there were four of them. Two of them had the bodies of men, dressed in a similar fashion as the priests. But there, the similarities ended, for the heads of these men – if that was what they were at all – were replaced with those of beasts; a hound as black as pitch, its muzzle long and dripped with saliva, and an owl with pure white plumage and a sharp, hooked beak that looked like it could tear through flesh. The third, although the smallest, was the most fearsome-looking, it's body a menagerie of three different, terrible creatures – it's head that of a crocodile, it's torso a lion and it's legs those of the hippopotamus. They were led by a fourth, a woman dressed in a flowing olive-green shawl. She looked completely human (there was that word again, thought Aruk's feverish mind, was it even the right term for these abominations?), and yet she exuded an aura about her that was far more bestial, more terrifyingly fearsome than any of her monstrous cohorts. Her face was sharp and pointed, almost serpent-like in its beauty, and heavily painted white, her eyes blazing like emeralds that matched the glowing far above her.

The first three Priest Aruk, still frozen in place by Mepheses, could easily identify from the animal-guises they each bore, but he also knew, deep-down in his cold gut, that the lady who led them was none other than the queen of the gods, and lover of Osiris. She was the Lady Isis.

"Is this him?" she asked with a cold hiss, pointing a slender finger at Aruk, its' elongated, sharpened nail scratching the tip of his nose – they were longer than his whole hand! Had he not been silently crying in fear already, then the intense pain alone would have brought tears to his eyes.

"Yes, Lady Isis," confirmed Mepheses, his head lowering to meet hers, his eyes still rolled back.

"The one who deems himself _worthy_ of questioning his gods?"

_You're not my gods!_ Aruk screamed silently, his jaws clenched shut against his will. _I don't know what you are, but you are _not_ those I worship. You...you can't be...I refuse to believe that!_

"Yes, my Lady..."

"Well," the goddess drew herself up to her full height, which was towering, the other three gods behind her fanning around Aruk, "then he must be judged."

As one, the animal-headed trio closed-in upon him and somehow, for some reason, Aruk found himself in control of his mouth once again. Finding his voice for the first time in what seemed like a terrible eternity, he screamed as they fell upon him.

In their separate worshipping areas, the other priests cupped their hands to their ears, muttering their prayers and words of worship louder than usual.

...anything to drown out his death-screams...

* * *

She was eating sand (again) and, before it had a chance to burn her face, he was at her side, helping her to her feet (again). As she rose unsteadily, he helped dust her off, peering at her through those thin-framed glasses of his with subtle amusement.

"I make that four times, now," the Doctor informed her cheerily as she eyed the camel she'd just fallen from. "Care to make it fifth time lucky? And, if that doesn't work, I hear '_third time's the charm_' also works for multiples of threes."

"Funny," she grunted, hopping up to mount the camel with grudging reluctance. Throwing a leg over, she grabbed hold of the reins and look back down at her alien friend; despite his advice as to her attire for the duration of their stay in Egypt, the Doctor had remained in his blue suit. "Well, it looks so much easier on –"

"On TV?" the Doctor finished with a good-natured wink as his nose wrinkled in boyish thought. He mounted his own camel with ease, almost like a pro which, given the space of time in which he had had to practice, he probably was – and hadn't he once mentioned something about trekking the Arabian desert with some guy called Lawrence? "Yeah, well, they also make it seem like you can walk with dinosaurs –"

"We have."

" – or fight vampires –"

"Ditto, and for the record? Not something I want to repeat any time soon."

"Ohh, yeah!" the Time Lord stroked his chin, remembering with a gleam in his eye. "Heh, Sherwood Forest! Last place I'd have expected to come across the Children of the Night...ah, variety! Don't you just love it?"

"I guess so," Martha conceded with a small smile, once again finding it impossible to remain in a bad mood around the man. Holding on for dear life as the camels took off again, she went on, "Just how did you get a hold of these monsters again?"

"_Weelll_," did he look guilty? "Once I'd assured the merchants that we _weren't_ gods but, ah," yes, he definitely averted his eyes that time, "_shamans_, it was a simple task of acquiring these fine animals..._as long as we meet with the gods and put in a good word for them ... maybe even wrangle a blessing or two..._?"

"...you have got to be kidding."

"Nope," the Doctor frowned into the blazing sunlight, "but chances are it won't even be necessary to actually do so."

"Oh?"

"Because I'm pretty sure these aren't gods we're dealing with, or at least not the genuine article."

"What are they then?" Martha asked suspiciously, already wondering if anything the two of them came across would ever be as simple as it appeared to be in first light.

"I don't know," he began to answer as, with an anguished yelp, Martha tumbled from her camel for the fifth time. "But we'll find out, eventually...and, in the meantime, do you want to try and switch camels?"

What every Martha said may just have been as heated as the sand that filled her mouth.

"_Okay_," he feigned shock before jumping down to come to her aid, "I was only offering..."

* * *

"It is agreed, then?" Isis asked of the small gathering, now minus one member.

The four gods and the High Priest stood in a pool of dark blood that was slick beneath their bare feet. Priest Aruk was nowhere to be seen.

Well, that wasn't entirely true, for in the hands of Anubis was a small, purple, blood-drenched organ that was the focus of their attention, the squat, amalgam god snapping it's crocodile jaws impatiently as it eyed the heart. Snarling with disdain at his smaller cohort, the dog-headed creature returned his gaze to Isis', and nodded silently.

"The little priest has been judged," Isis went on evenly, "and he has been found guilty; render unto Ammut what is rightfully his."

Anubis nodded obediently and bowed, tossing the heart at the crocodile-headed god halfheartedly. Ammut opened his jaws wide to meet it, snapping it up with relish, chewing and chomping loud with appreciative growls.

"A word, Isis," the Hem netjer Mepheses sighed deeply, his scowling gaze drifting from the macabre sight at his feet to lock eyes with the fearsome woman. "I believe it is these people's belief that their heart is removed, judged and – as was the case here – _eaten_ after they had died and passed onto the afterlife. _Not _while they're still breathing."

If the other three gods had been expecting the queen of them all to respond to this correction the same way she had dealt with the High Priest's subordinate, they were to be disappointed.

Instead, she _smiled_. "Yes, but you must it admit it is far more enjoyable this way."

Mepheses licked his lips with sheer delight; it _had_ been fun.

"Our plans continue to go ahead without a hitch," Horus announced evenly, bowing a feathered head respectfully towards Isis as he interrupted. "The day is just over forty-eight hours away, and all is in place. When the flooding of their Nile takes place, we will be victorious, unstoppable..."

Isis nodded, her pinched features narrowing still as she pictured the moment. "And the waters shall rise up, consuming all! Old, young, rich, poor, sick _and_ healthy, all shall be swept away and perish! The world will drown, and change forever...change so that it's new inheritors may _live_!"

* * *

**A/N:** Waaay too long since I updated this, sorry! I hope, with the new series well underway, that interest in this story hasn't vanished completely, as I promise to see it through. And what a story it will be! If you're curious or hooked now, you ain't seen nothing yet!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A few hours (and so many falls Martha had lost count) later, they were standing on the outskirts of Cairo, their camels ("_Monsters_," she had insisted, much to the Doctor's amusement) tied-up at the nearest watering hole. Standing there, hands in his trouser pockets, the Doctor gazed upon the city with eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

Looking upon it herself, Martha couldn't help but wonder what the big deal was. "It doesn't look as..._majestic_ as I pictured it would be," she admitted finally.

"Really?" the Doctor sounded surprised, turning to observe her as if to discover what tinted lenses she was viewing the city through before turning to look out at Cairo, lips pursed. "Need I ask if you imagined everyone walking in profile, arms jutting out like they're all playing '_I'm a Little Teapot_'?"

"Funny, Doctor...what's up, then?" she asked, reading his look. "Why the long face?"

"Oh, I was just regenerated with it...okay, fine," he gave in under her unflinching stare. "What I want to know is _why_? Why here, why Cairo? Ancient Egypt is saturated with temples, some of which are much closer to the Pharaoh's palaces –"

"Palaces?" Martha repeated slowly, comprehension refusing to assert itself for her. "What, as in the plural? And what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, Egyptians believed their kings, the _Pharaohs_, were living embodiments, incarnations of the sun god Ra."

"Ra?"

"Ra," the Doctor nodded, pursing his lips as if struggling to contain himself.

"You were going to mention something about cheerleaders, weren't you?" she asked bemusedly.

He shrugged, guilty as charged. "That, or _Rasputin_," he grinned, blinked several times and slipped back into his serious-yet-awed demeanour, hands stuffed deeper in his pockets. "Anyway, where was I...? Oh! Yeah, Egypt-Pharaohs-incarnations-Ra, right! _Well,_ you'd think these other 'gods', after being so kind as to descend amongst us – well, _you_ – humble mortals, that they would want to meet with him more than anything. So, why Cairo? Why so far away? Bit of an inconvenience for the head honcho..."

"If they're really gods, you mean," Martha added, filling in the blanks.

"If, yeah...well," he spun on his heel, turning to face her with a gleam in his eye, "only one way to find out for sure!"

Before she could say another word, the Doctor off down the small sand bank they were standing atop, his feet throwing sand up into the creases of his trousers, socks and into his sneakers. But he didn't seem to care or notice, his mind firmly set on other things completely. Sighing in deep exasperation, Martha stomped after him.

They passed under the arches of the sandblasted walls of the city, the Doctor's head never remaining still for an instant as he took in the sights, the culture, the people, and it was very easy to see why he found everything so engrossing; the block-like houses Martha had seen from the outside had quickly given way to larger streets crammed with stalls and carts selling everything one could possibly need (and a few things she was quite she would never require), from exotic herbs to lavish, colourful materials. They were also getting more than their fair share of looks, but Martha didn't think much more of it until one trader in particular approached them, his eyes more on her than the Doctor.

"Hello!" the Doctor smiled cheerily. "What can we do for you, then? I'm afraid we haven't much money – actually, I don't think I ever got around to collecting any currency from this age..."

"Your woman –"

"Doesn't have any money either," Martha interjected quickly, none too pleased with the objective term as the trader continued to look intently at her. "What...?"

"I think," the Doctor turned to face her, darkness clouding his features, "he means he wants to _buy_ you."

"Yes, yes!" the other man nodded, sweaty palms rubbing on his shabby cloth clothes. "Nubian slaves for Pharaoh! _Much _profit to be made, my good friend! Name your price, I am a generous –"

Her palm shot out from nowhere, but the Doctor was quicker, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip that was unshakeable. His eyes bore into hers warningly, his head shaking slowly. "If you want to _keep_ your hands," he muttered hurriedly, "I'd very much advise against that."

"Indeed," nodded the merchant with a sneer, "your woman, she has much spirit and anger, but–"

"_But_ she is not for sale," the Doctor intoned heavily as he rounded upon the other man, glowering. "You see, I'm afraid you've made a terrible mistake...because, you see, she isn't a slave."

"Not a slave?" the trader scoffed, "But she is a Nubian!"

"_Even so_," the Doctor growled and, this time, Martha could sense how hard he was struggling to keep his own anger in check. "She is _not_ a slave. She is with me, as an emissary for her people, who has come to meet with your gods, to commune with them, to witness their majesty and, maybe, even be converted – sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"You...you wish to see the gods?!" the merchant stammered in fear, backing up against another trader's stall and knocking a couple of ceramic pots down into the sandy stone road, where they shattered amidst a deathly silence that had suddenly encompassed the two travellers.

"Is that a problem?" asked the Doctor, surprised.

"It is madness!" cried the trader, turning and breaking into a frenzied run. "_Madness!_"

"Well, that was weird," the Doctor mused as he turned from watching the man retreat, to observe the uneasy hush around them, and finally to regard Martha. "I wonder what he meant by that?"

"Hmph!"she snorted, arms crossed.

"Oh, come on," he chided lightly, "you're not seriously going to let his comments get to you, are you? It's an ancient civilization, Martha! With ancient religions, ancient cultures, ancient ethics, ancient prejudices and, and...and ancient _food_!" he grinned a triumphant grin. "Speaking of which, did you know their _bread_ –"

"He thought I was a _slave girl_!" she exclaimed in frustration.

"_Ancient prejudices_," he repeated gently as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Seriously, think nothing of it. Then again, I guess we should be thankful slavery is one aspect of life you humans dropped some time ago – just imagine if it was like this now!" he caught her stifling a giggle and sighed. "Oh, what now?"

"Nothing," she groaned, breathing heavily. "Oh, I'm sorry Doctor... I was just trying to imagine the Queen Mum in a pyramid!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, considering this with a slight smile, a smile which became a huge, idiotic grin in seconds. "Not what I meant," he told her as he turned back to examine the route of the fleeing trader. "But, yeah...come on, the temple must be nearby. Heh, over two thousand gods – you'd think _every_ building was one!"

"Two...two _thousand_?"

"At my last count, yes, but don't expect me to be able to name them all. It's not like they had an electoral roll of omnipotent beings back then."

"Oh, really...?"

"Too much papyrus, I guess," he caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye. "What? It was trying times..."

"What about it, then?"

"Hmmm...? What about what?"

"What about their bread, Doctor?"

"_Bread_?" he looked at her momentarily as if she'd lost it completely before recollecting. "Oh, right, yes! The bread...well, it grinds their teeth down to blunt stubs, doesn't it?"

"That bad, was it?" she asked, smirking.

"Martha," he said softly, "look under your feet."

Even though she felt she knew what he was hinting at, she checked anyway. "Sand?" she asked finally.

He nodded. "Gets everywhere, _especially_ their flour...gives a whole new meaning to 'gradual wear-and-tear,' I can tell you."

"Oh, can you?" she asked, sceptical. "Have you ever actually tried to eat any?"

"Well, no, that would just have been stupid...come on!" he took off.

Upon catching up with him, she managed to match his stride effortlessly. "So, what's up?" she asked, turning her head as they walked further into the city.

"What's up with what?"

"With you...I know that look."

"What look, this look?" he asked, pulling a face like a constipated bulldog. When he noticed she was serious, he looked ahead purposefully, his mind racing. "That merchant back there, he was petrified simply at the thought of us going to meet these gods...and that doesn't make any sense! The Egyptians weren't afraid of their gods," he quickly explained as Martha made to interrupt. "Quite the opposite, if you'd believe such a thing. Yes, they'd visit the temple, yes they'd pray to their gods with passion and _yes_, they would ask, beg and beseech the god for something or other. And yet, days later, if they _still_ hadn't received what it was they had begged for, do you know what they did?"

"Convert to one of the other one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine gods?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no...no, they'd settle for _punishing_ them instead. By withholding tribute, offerings and prayers – heh, if memory serves me correctly, they even used to beat statues of the god who was neglecting their worshippers!"

"_No..._" Martha gasped.

"Oh, yes!" he grinned, sighing blissfully. "Oh, you humans...you'd do the things if you firmly believe that you'll get what you want out of it! Ah, here we are! What a beauty!"

They stood at the foot of a set of cracked, sun-bleached stone steps of a much larger building then any they had seen previously, strewn with columns and statues of dog and cat headed beings ("The gods of _Anubis _and _Set_," he informed her as they both looked on in awe). The doors into the temple were closed but, if anything, Martha knew the Doctor well enough to figure that to be all the more reason for him to barge on in.

And she was right. "After you," he offered, sweeping a hand up the steps.

Not one to pass up an offer of a lifetime, Martha marched up the stairs, the Doctor close behind. She found the climb easier once she was within the shade of the temple – a _blessing_, the Doctor quipped. Upon reaching the large wooden doors, she stopped to rest against them and regain her breath...and almost toppled backwards when they gave slightly.

"No barring," the Doctor observed, holding her up as she reached out for support. "Hmm, maybe simply shutting a door means 'No Entry' to the locals," he looked at her with a wicked grin. "Good thing we're from outta town!"

Pushing the doors wide open, he strode boldly in until he was standing in the centre of the temple's antechamber. He took a deep breath, taking in the culture, the atmosphere...and froze, his nose wrinkling, eyes narrowing in a scowl.

"This isn't right," he muttered darkly, his back to her as she approached him hesitantly, "something's wrong, something's very, _very_ wrong, something terrible...what is it, though?" he growled, growing both curious and yet angry at himself at the same time (Martha noticed he did this a lot, priding himself on his seemingly-limitless knowledge and intellect, but falling prone to berating himself incessantly whenever limits – or, at least, obstacles – presented themselves). "_What?_" another sniff, deeper than the last, nostrils flaring. "Arrrgh, think, man, _think_! Gods come to Earth, people should be elated, but they're not. _Nooo, _they're bloody terrified, but why? _Why_?" another sniff. "What's there to be... afraid... of...?"

Fearing his tone, Martha slowly followed his eyes down to the bricked floor they now stood upon, bricks stained crimson. "Blood?"

"_Human_ blood," he nodded grimly as, in his head, the entire enigma was solved a fraction. She made to question him, and although he knew she dearly wanted to hear it was a mistake, that he merely _thought_ it was human, he could not lie to her. "I can smell it, Martha," he told her sadly, "I've grown accustomed to it, regretfully, come to hate the stench of it, the stench of _death_... and yet, it follows me everywhere, mocking me..._taunting me_," if she hadn't known him better, after all they'd been through, she'd have said he was on the verge of tears. But, as it was, she knew the Doctor to be far stronger than that. "Nine hundred years I've lived with it, Martha, wishing – _vainly_ wishing – that I would never have to witness death again...and yet its life's one true certainty isn't it? Her inescapable guarantee...that all will die in time," refusing to brood on it a second longer, his look of profound sadness was once again replaced with a frown.

"No, it's not right," he told her firmly. "It shouldn't be like this, not here," he looked at her, realising the awful truth. "We shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because, Martha Jones, the Ancient Egyptians didn't practice human sacrifice..."

* * *

**A/N:** Again - long time since I updated this but, seeing as the TV series is over and the fanfic 'market' for it still seems to be booming I thought 'Why not?' XDD

If this chapter came across as too preachy/teachy, I'm sorry - I'll try and cut back on the facts and just focus on the story from now on!

Dave


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"_Sacrifice_..."

"Yeah," he nodded grimly, "either that, or flat-out murder – bad news either way. We should get out of here, Martha, we need to get out _now_ –"

He trailed to a halt as his roving eyes came to rest on a small figure pressed close to one of the columns to his left, watching them closely. When he realised he'd been spotted, the little man squeaked with fear and scurried back into the shadows, the Doctor hot on his heels with Martha not far behind.

"Was he wearing a loin cloth?" she asked, not believing her own eyes.

"A priest," the Doctor confirmed hastily as he rounded the column, scanning the gloom for any sign of the man. "Simple life, but _very fast; _where did he go? Hello?" he called out into the shadowy vastness, trotting slowly to a halt, having lost his target. Scratching his head, he turned back to his companion. "Hmm, that was odd. Why on earth was he just standing there when he obviously knows what's taken place here – _they barely leave the temple_," he went on to answer her unasked question, "_so unless he was very, very _deaf... no, he knows all too well what's going on, but something's gotten to him, made him too scared to confront strangers like us – oh, hello," he murmured, his curious gaze prompting Martha to turn around and follow his line-of-sight, where she spied another of the mysterious priests, this one better dressed than the last. "You chaps just seem to be creeping out of the woodwork, don't you...?" she heard him murmur with bemusement.

"Who are you?" demanded the new man, eyeing them like one would eye a cockroach infestation. "What are you doing in the temple of the gods?"

"Gods?" repeated the Doctor, perplexed. "You mean, more than one? Not just the usual one-per-temple?"

"It used to be a temple of Ra," the man conceded with a pompous sneer, "but that was before the arrival of the gods made flesh, who deemed to make this temple their focal point with the mortal world. You tarnish its sanctity with your presence, and you have yet to answer my question – _who_ are you?"

"Oh, right, so sorry about that...?"

"You may address me as the _Hem netjer_."

"High Priest," the Doctor whistled impressively, "why, that would make you Top Dog here on 'the mortal world' now wouldn't it? Bet you must be feeling very pleased with yourself...but, I digress! I'm the Doctor, and this is Martha Jones, my companion," he added, emphasizing the last word to bypass any repeats of earlier.

The High Priest didn't seem to share the impressed sentiment. "You're no doctor of these lands," he spat, "your attire is too outlandish – it betrays you as a foreigner, and therefore a _heathen_ to all you see around you. Why are you here, heathen? Have you come to gloat, to try and impress upon me your own ideals and beliefs, convert me and my people to your own, outlandish, heretic gods and monsters? The Egyptian people are strong, their belief unwavering – you will find no victory here; their gods are with them."

"Ah, but are they though...?"

"You question my gods?!" the Hem netjer was outraged at the indication, his eyes rolling up into his skull. "You doubt my words?!"

"Oh, no, no, no, no – perish the thought! Nah, I was just pondering out loud, sorry about that... just like I was wondering where the breeze has gone. Martha," he called, causing her to turn to him, "run."

"What?" she couldn't believe her ears – what was going on here? She'd totally lost the plot.

"Run!" he bellowed as he watched the torches dim, gradually replaced with an unnatural emerald glow. Before she could move, he grabbed her by the arm, almost yanking it out of her socket as he sped past her, barging the High Priest aside as he made his way back towards the exit. The High Priest barely budged, as if he were embedded into the stone floors, only his head turning to follow their flight with unholy white fire in his eyes.

They rounded the column they had previously seen the first priest creeping around, and the large wooden door quickly came into sight through the gloom. It was shut and decidedly barred with a huge plank of wood the two of them had no chance of removing.

"Arrrgh, _no_!" cried the Doctor in exasperation at the sight, "I should've known he was a lure – we should've left, but _nooo_, I had to go chasing shadows! _Stupid man_!"

"What are we going to do?" asked Martha, panicking, "We're trapped and, and – and that back there, that's not normal!"

"My guess is he's summoning his so-called 'gods'," murmured the Doctor hurriedly as he fumbled away within the recesses of the his suit jacket. "Although I still don't know what they really or _nor_ do I particularly want to right now. Now, where did I place the darn thing? I can never just find it first time around.... ah-hah!" he whipped out his hand, now brandishing his sonic screwdriver.

Martha just stared at it, looked to the very wooden door, and back to the screwdriver, confounded. "Er, Doctor? It's _wood_. No lock, no hidden mechanisms, nothing. Just _wood_. So, unless it suddenly has a setting to turn anything to sawdust we're still trapped in here with him," she paused as a howling picked-up, thundering its way towards them, "and _that_."

"The plank barring the door," the Doctor pointed his alien device at the bars fastening the aforementioned plank in place, "is held by these iron slats which, in turn, are nailed in. The nails are crude, yeah, but what can you expect? But a nail's a nail, which means that _this_ little beauty can pull 'em out! Just need to find the right setting, magnetize, annnd...ha, ha, ha!" he crowed as the first nail popped out in a small explosion of sawdust and rust. "Molto Bene! Come on!"

"That's great, Doctor, but we're not out of the woods yet," Martha pushed him gently as shadows began to grow out from the emerald gloom.

"Of course, don't you worry Martha, got it sorted," he swung the screwdriver to the next nail, the pitch of its whine increasing as he intensified the output. This quickly resulted in the next nail shooting out of its place, colliding with the gadget and sending it flying from the Doctor's hands. "Blast!" he roared as he watched it skitter across the stone floor, resting halfway between the two of them, and the shadows. He darted after it, scooping it up in his hands as his eyes caught sight of the shadows as they took more recognisable, terrible forms; those of dogs and birds with human bodies.

"Hurry, Doctor!"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me twice..." hurrying back to the door, the Doctor quickly gave the last remaining nails a zap and, once the iron slats were unsecured and the plank fell free, bouncing on the stones once with a booming thud, he hopped over and planted his feet against it, his back to the door as he pushed to make a gap with which to open the door. The plank slid slowly and heavily over the stones, and beads of sweat broke on his brow in no time, but he didn't give up, his eyes never once leaving the shadows as they crept ever closer. There was a clattering now, of claws on rock, and its paced intensified as an unseen snout snorted at the air, saliva-filled maws snapping hungrily as it picked-up their scent. Finally, after what seemed like a painful eternity, the plank had been moved far enough away from the door and the Doctor turned on his heel and gripped the door in both hands. "Help me, Martha!"

Together, they pulled at the door, not waiting until it was more than a manageable crack before they slipped out, stumbling blindly out backwards in the sudden blaze of sunlight. Blinking, they turned cautiously...

Only to be met with a wall of golden spearheads.

* * *

**A/N:** Again, can't apologize enough for the long absence, but personal problems couldn't be avoided...you know how it is.

Suffice to say - I haven't given-up on this story! I WILL be completed, if not soon, then...erm, soonish!

Hope you enjoyed it so far! Any feedback is greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Hands shielding their eyes from the sun's glare, the Doctor and Martha looked out over the row of spears and the soldiers wielding them. Behind them was a chariot and two sleek black horses, its rider concealed by a shading partition. With the terrifying sounds from the temple drawing ever closer still, the Doctor knew there was no time to waste and proceeded as if the spearmen weren't even there.

"Pharaoh Ramesses the Third, I take it?" he yelled over the howling winds as, all around them, the sand started to pick up – signs of another oncoming sandstorm.

The curtain twitched curiously before parting a sliver to reveal an inquisitive young male's face, bold eyes peering at the two of them with confusion.

The Doctor continued, spurred on by this positive reaction. "Believe me, O Great Pharaoh, that we are not the threat here! We mean you no harm! Whatever's behind me, behind _that_ door – that's the real threat!"

The door was shaking now, sand and dust falling from it in showers that fell upon the two travellers like sheets. Wordlessly, the Pharaoh raised a heavily decorated arm from behind the curtain, beckoning them closer. The wall of spears divided in two as the Doctor led Martha between them, breathing a sigh of relief as they formed-up behind them once again. Once at a relatively safe distance, with the spearmen lined-up in front of them, the one line of defence against whatever was about to break out of the temple, the Doctor turned around to look at the door just as the shaking stopped and an old, decisively human hand reached around the crack, closely followed by the Hem netjer. He blinked out into the sunlight tiredly as he took in the row of soldiers, the Doctor, Martha and, finally, the Pharaoh's chariot.

But only the Doctor and his companion seemed startled to see how the High Priest had aged considerably since their previous encounter.

"What is the meaning of all this, Mepheses?" Ramesses demanded, stepping fully out from behind his curtain now so that Martha could fully see how he dressed, worlds apart from that of any of his soldiers, or any of the priests she had seen in their short time back in the temple. His linen robes reached from his shoulders to his sandaled feet, his bare arms laden with bracelets of gold and encrusted with jewels and gemstones. His beard was tied tightly into a rod-like shape that protrude from his chin at an elevated angle, his eyes were heavily made-up in white and he bore a headdress of gold and turquoise vertical stripes, figures of a vulture and a snake resting where it met his brow. "These strange people, these outlanders, proclaim you to be some sort of threat! Explain yourself!"

"Were it that simple," sighed the old man as he threw an accusing finger at the two travellers. "These two, my King, are heathens and vandals! They desecrated the temple of our gods, threatened to destroy them and – when faced with the might of our masters made flesh – set about destroying the temple in their bid to escape. You need only look inside to see the unholy deeds they have performed."

"Now, hang about!" the Doctor rounded on the Pharaoh with a look that said 'what is he like, eh?' but was cut short when it was met with a baleful glare. "Oh, come on, you're not going to believe that load of nonsense, are you? Of course you are," he amended as the glare intensified, "because he's your High Priest and I'm just a total stranger, what reason could you possibly have to believe me? This isn't good..."

"Just look at him!" Martha stepped forward, breaking free of the Doctor's restraining grip as she addressed the Pharaoh. "He wasn't that old a moment ago! Doesn't that _say_ something?!"

"The Nubian woman will know her place," growled Ramesses with barely contained venom before lifting his eyes to once again look upon the priest, "but you _will_ answer her, nonetheless. Can you explain your lost years, Hem netjer?"

"Not lost, my Pharaoh," Mepheses corrected respectfully, "only spent; communing with the gods is an arduous task, but one I take gladly. It drains me of all my strength and leaves me in this enfeebled state. But fear not, for I shall be reinvigorated once more," he paused, eyeing the Doctor with suspicious intent, "once I am well nourished again."

The Doctor mouthed these last few words silently to himself curiously as, by unspoken command, the spearmen turned on their heels to point their weapons back at him and his companion. "Oh, now _really_..."

"Were you a citizen of Egypt, I would have you killed where you stand for the atrocities you have committed," announced the Pharaoh as he stepped down from his chariot. He strode over to the two travellers and gave them a closer, scrutinising inspection. "But there is something about you, man –"

"Oh, Doctor," he interjected in an attempt at friendly helpfulness, "just the Doctor. And this is Martha."

" – _Doctor_," continued Ramesses, irate at the interruption, "there is something about you, the way you dress, the way you hold yourself and the way you _speak_ that tells me you are not what you appear, whatever _that_ might be."

"Oh, you have no idea," muttered Martha sarcastically, but was quickly elbowed by the Doctor as the Pharaoh turned his perilous gaze upon her.

"And you, woman! You who knows not when to keep to herself and speaks as if she were an equal amongst kings, holy men and...doctors," this last word seemed painfully forced, "there is also so much about you that does not ring true to my understanding of the world. For this, you shall both be spared and remain my prisoners until such a time I have gleaned enough understanding to either have you released, or executed."

"Well, there you go then," the Doctor smiled tightly at this news, "you are indeed wise beyond your years, O Pharaoh, and I promise," this time, it was he that shot Mepheses a look of intention, "once everything's been resolved you will have your answers."

"I better," huffed Ramesses, "for both your sakes. Now, you and your – _Martha_ will remain here with my soldiers. I have business to attend to with the Hem netjer, and I will take the time to look over the damage you have wrought upon our temple and what I witness shall go towards my judgement. Guards, keep an eye on them; should they try and run, do not hesitate to strike them down."

"Charming," Martha crossed her arms defensively as the row of spearmen shifted in to encircle the two of them, "Y'know, I'm starting to hate ancient Egypt just a tiny bit..."

But the Doctor wasn't listening to her; his attention was focused on the Pharaoh as he walked up the steps to the temple, where he was welcomed by the wizened Hem netjer and ushered inside. His eyes said everything – he didn't trust the priest at all, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from attempting to break through their makeshift prison to hold Ramesses back.

"What did he mean '_once he was well nourished again_'?" he pondered allowed, balled fist to the brow like some handsome, suited statue of David. "And what were those lights, those _shadows_? Gods don't just grow from shadows, or at least they shouldn't... what the blazes is going on here?"

"If I were you," one of the guardsmen snapped, "I'd keep your heretic thoughts to yourself before one of us has a little 'accident' and slips with their spear."

"Of course, sorry, rude of me," the Doctor bristled at the hostility but continued to mutter under his breath as Martha looked around helplessly, feeling every bit the trapped animal they were treating her like.

Behind the temple doors, Ramesses had to be immediately careful not to trip over the long wooden plank that now lay strewn on the stone floors. He prodded it with one foot, noticing how heavy, how unmoveable it was. "And you say the foreigners simply... cast this aside?" he enquired of his High Priest.

"With unholy strength, O Pharaoh, did they rent it from its holdings, wielding it one of your solider might simply wield their spear. Indeed, they threatened to strike me with it should I tell anyone of their sacrilege."

"Hmm," the Pharaoh eyed him and the barring-plank with deep suspicion; he was no judge of such unholy things, but he failed to see how the two strangers could possibly have shifted it otherwise. Struggling, and failing, to come to some agreeable conclusion, he tutted and looked up to observe the rest of the temple, which lay in similar disarray – pillars had entire chunks blown off, rubble piling on the floors. Wooden altars were totally destroyed, broken in half. "They did all this?"

"Indeed, they did."

"But my forerunners mentioned seeing them enter for just five minutes before I myself arrived," Ramesses was puzzled, sifting a hand through the nearest pile of rubble. "They did all this in five minutes?"

"Well, O Pharaoh, that is to say..." the High Priest was visibly flustered by the piece of news.

"Did they, or did they not?" he demanded coldly.

"They called upon powers I've never witnessed!" claimed Mepheses, "Such terrible, dark magics!"

But the Pharaoh was no longer convinced, and the High Priest could see that any advantage he had over the two strangers was now gone. "What do you propose we do about this?" he asked of his king.

"Right now, Hem netjer, I trust neither you nor them. But time forces my hand, and I must cast this matter aside for the time being. Once the ceremony has been completed I shall take it up once again – and woe betide you if you're found foul of deceit!"

"Of course, O Wise Pharaoh," the High Priest bowed, taking the slow motion to conceal a wicked smile before rising, his expression calm as ever. "Then you are ready to proceed with the _akhet_ ceremony? The hour draws near; the river must flood so that Hapi can bring fertility to our lands!"

"Yes, yes, I know this, do you think I have forgotten? Why do you think I am here?"

"I thought maybe it was to meet with the gods," answered Mepheses.

"No...no, sadly, that too must wait. I'd rather I looked upon them at a more favourable time; I daren't risk their anger by not fulfilling my divine duties." The Pharaoh gathered his robes about him and turned on his heel. "Come, Hem netjer!" he added as he edged his way out of the doorway, "We must make our way to the Nile!"

"Did I hear the word 'Nile'?" piped up the Doctor from within his spear-prison. "As in the great, big river running down the middle of your country, and the base of that terrible 'In de Nile' joke I hear way too often? _That_ Nile?"

"There is only one, is there not?" asked the Pharaoh as he motioned for his guard to relax their security around the two travellers.

"_Weeell, depends if you've been to New Earth or not,_" the Doctor murmured hurriedly under his breath as the king approached, "_and with your civilization's rumours of extra-terrestrial aid, who knows? Anything's possible..._"

"Do you always insist of muttering away like a madman, Doctor..?" sighed the Pharaoh. "I find it very tiring and suspicious."

"Who, me? Yeah, all the time I'm afraid – comes with spending most of my life being the most intelligent party in a conversation – uh, not that I would even _consider_ calling you a fool, O Great Pharaoh," he quickly amended himself under Ramesses' glare. "It's just a force of habit, sorry...but, look, why this sudden fascination with getting to the Nile? You only just got here! Don't you want to see your 'gods made flesh'?" Martha had to control herself from laughing out loud as he emphasized these last few words like he was Doctor Frankenstein in a Hammer Horror movie.

"As much as it would fill my heart with reverence and joy to behold my gods with my own eyes, I fear they would not look too kindly to me if I failed to complete my given duties to my people. Therefore, we must make for the Nile with all due speed."

"Duties...Nile...ohhh, you mean the Inundation!" there was that beaming grin of triumph of his as, little by little, pieces started falling into place in the Doctor's mind. "Marvellous, simple marvellous! Why, that must put us well near September, wouldn't you say? Nah, nah, of course you wouldn't," he went on regardless of the Pharaoh's exasperated expression, "you live on a totally different calendar, don't you? Heh, the annual flooding of the Nile! What a coincidence, only," now he paused, eyeing the High Priest once again with renewed suspicion, "if there's one thing I know it's that there's no such thing as a coincidence, now is there? It's just another piece of the puzzle... anyway, yes! To the Nile, then! Allons-y! Got to get there in time, Your Highness, your work must be done! And then...then we'll see what things are all about!"

As they made their way to the Nile, the Pharaoh's chariot leading the way and the spearman-guard staying close to the Doctor, Martha and the High Priest, Martha sidled close to the Time Lord as he strode blissfully in the procession and muttered in hush tones. "Look, I've think I've been quiet long enough, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah, too long," he agreed with a grin as he hooked his arm with hers. "Almost forgot you were with me – kidding!" he added as he nimbly sidestepped her elbowing shove. "Kidding...what's on your mind, Martha? What's going on inside the wonderful head of Miss Jones, M.D?"

"I wish," she laughed, quickly becoming serious, "what's on _your_ mind is a better question; just what connections are you making, anyway? Living gods, pharaohs, creepy priests, green light and shadows, and now this! The flooding of the Nile! Just what is going on, Doctor? Am I completely dense, or do you not know what's entirely going on either?"

Brow furrowing, the Doctor looked up at the High Priest, now riding beside the Pharaoh in his chariot and whispering in the man's ear in hushed tones. "I think only one man truly knows everything that's going on and is about to take place," he told her calmly, "but I very much doubt it's Mr. Mummy-In-The-Making."

"That's what I was afraid you'd say," groaned Martha.

**A/N:** Another day, another chapter! Hey, wonder how long I can keep this up – story should be done by the end of the week if I can keep it at this rate! Apologies for any awkward sentences in this (and the last chapter!), as it's been some time since I've had a chance to really _write_ and I'm working off the rust, so to speak.

Lucky you, chaps! Because Dave felt cleverer than usual, you get treated to a small glossary to explain one or two things! Huzzah!

_Akhet – _A season in the ancient Egyptian calendar that heralded the flooding of the Nile from its small beginnings in mid-July, in the city of Aswan, to mid-November, its culminated most notably being the swelling of the banks in (guess where?) Cairo. Now you know why I set the story there :D Oh, and also, it was widely believed that the Pharaoh – being _the_ living embodiment of one of the top gods – was responsible for the flooding of the Nile, that it was his duty to make sure it happened and that his people enjoyed a fertile year's farming. A drought year, or one with low water rising levels, may have been seen as a curse, that the gods did not favour the people for that year.

Hapi – The god associated with the above season, also god of the Nile-slash-water, fertility, North and South (no, not the 2004 TV series), Upper and Lower Egypt (wow, with all those duties you'd think they'd have split it up between a few gods, huh?). He's also one of the select few gods who appear pretty much human.

Allons-y – C'mon, you must be a Doctor Who fan to be reading this, so you know what it means! :D

M.D – Doctor of Medicine.

See? Told you it was small! Until next time, people!

Dave


	6. STATUS UPDATE!

DOCTOR WHO – The Gods Plot

UPDATE!!!

Life, as ever, has been a major pain in the behind – hence the lack of updates on this story I WILL finish. In a bid to work around the limited internet and word processing access I'm currently experiencing, I'm going to go about 'The Gods Plot' in a different way; I'm in the process of writing the rest entirely on paper before I even think about typing-up any more.

That way, I can type and post further updates with a more specific update schedule in mind. So, hopefully, any faithful readers still out that should see a new chapter within the next fortnight!

For new readers – a recap! Imagine this to be a montage before and after the show goes on a week-or-two hiatus.

**The TARDIS crashes in Ancient Egypt, throwing the Doctor and Martha into a time of deep intrigue and mystery – the gods have come to Cairo, not as word or literature, but as living beings of unimaginable strength... and **_**hunger. **_**The hunger for human flesh.**

**Our adventurers stumble across the site of the gods latest fateful 'visitation', and the Doctor immediately suspects the worst. Chased out of the temple by the sinister **_**Hem netjer**_**, they find themselves face-to-face with the Pharaoh's convoy and suspicions are thrown out to everyone as our heroes try to clean their name and reveal the High Priest for the evil he truly is. The High Priest slips up in his lies, and causes the Pharaoh to lose trust in anyone for the time being; he decides to delay his judgement until after the sacred ritual...**

_**The annual inundation of the Nile.**_

Hope that clears things up! And please, to keep your curiosity piqued, feel free to PM me with guesses as to exactly what's going on, and how things will wrap-up...I'll be incredibly surprised if anyone gets it entirely correct – it's one of my stories that's surprised even me! But I can promise you one thing – it'll be sure worth the wait! Mystery, conspiracy, horror, action – all is yet to come!

You won't regret this!

Until next time, faithful companions!

Dave

PS: if this story continues to garner enough interest, and if time and my personal situation improves, I have several more adventures planned for 10 and Martha/possibly Donna Noble. These include...

**The actual adventure mentioned in one of the early chapters – "The Nightchildren of Sherwood Forest"!**

A chilling future horror that wouldn't be amiss amongst zombie movies – "Starbase of the Dead"!

**Words fuel the imagination, but what happens when the imagination becomes **_**too**_** powerful? – "The Pen is Mightier..."**

Wars are fought for many terrible reasons – but none more terrifying than for a simple _game_! – "The Gamerian Invasion"!


	7. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

They were marched through the streets of Cairo as the Pharaoh made his way towards the river Nile, the Doctor and Martha quickly becoming the subjects of many bewildered gazes as they passed-by, hands in pockets or arms crossed in vain attempts to blend-in with the royal guard.

"How much further?" growled Martha as she swiped sand from her face for the umpteenth time.

The Doctor inhaled deeply through his nostrils, which wrinkled pleasantly as if he could measure the distance in scents. "Not long now, Martha! And c'mon, where's your sense of adventure, ey?"

"Oh, so this is suddenly a great adventure to you, is it?" she pulled her arm free of his. "Because I could've sworn we were prisoners – _with the chance of being executed_!"

"Ah, yes, but it's a very small chance," he assured her with a smile, "_reeeally _tiny, in fact, speck-like if you will, infinitismal – well, you get the point. Nope, I'm pretty sure we won't get executed."

"Really?" she sounded relieved.

"Yeah…cos I reckon that, if anything, the High Priest will get to us first. _Not_ that I'd let anything happen to you," he added as she shot him a withering look. "We'll be fine, I promise."

"Well, you better be right, because I didn't travel all this way to end up a mummy."

"What makes you think you'd warrant mummification?" the Time Lord looked amused, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "They used to reserve that for the real bigwigs – y'know; royalty, nobility, the movers an shakers…the cats. That sort."

"Good think I'm an ambassador for the Nubians, then," she retorted wryly.

"Oh, yeah," his nose wrinkled unhappily at the memory, "I guess I'd forgotten about that…"

She shot him another resentful look, and they finished the journey in utter silence, the scrunching of hot sand underfoot quickly becoming the only sound between them for several long, agonising minutes before it was accompanied by the gently babbling of the river Nile running along sun-baked clay banks. Sighing with relief, Martha slowed her storming pace down to a tired padding and was almost immediately greeted with a sharp poke in the small of her back from a guard's spear.

"Oi!" she rounded on the offending spearman, one hand nursing her punctured skin. "Careful with that!"

"Keep marching," ordered the guard, evidently confounded by such fiery spirit from a woman. He lifted his spear to point it back over her shoulder. "Can't you see that my Lord has yet to reach his destination? We do not rest until he does."

"Easy for him," Martha snorted as she turned back and picked up the pace once again, "sitting on his throne like that. I'd like to see him walk a mile in this bloody sand. Bet he'd want to slow down then…"

"Yes," conceded the Doctor, "but that would probably be because he'd have realised that he was a mile out of his way, you see…because I'm pretty sure we're heading over _there_."

'Over there' appeared to be a towering sandstone building that was set into the riverbank. Pharaoh Rameses' man-drawn box came to a rest by its threshold, and he stepped through the parting of curtains to address the three people in the group not a part of his usual royal convoy.

"Hem netjer, Doctor and…and you woman," he pointed each of them out in turn, swiftly skipping over Martha before she could kick-up a stink. "You are to come with me. I've realised that my holy duties require a clear head if I am to fulfil the ritual, so I shall pass judgement on this situation first. Now, come!"

"This is bad," hissed the Doctor as they followed the Pharaoh and the High Priest, keeping just far back enough for their hushed whispers not to raise suspicion. "I mean, really, _really_ bad; things are going to go from bad to _catastrophic_ real quick within that building…"

"Oh?" Martha murmured, hoping the indifference in her voice hid the unease his words gave her.

"If that Pharaoh finds in favour of the Hem netjer, he won't hesitate to allow the madman – or _whatever_ he is – to kindly relieve us of our heads. Why, ol' Rammy might even find the time to take a swing himself. _If_, on the other hand," he took a short breath, considering the alternative. From the dire look in his eyes, it didn't fare better, "_if_ he somehow miraculously decides to believe us over his High Priest – which, despite my uncanny knack for pulling miracles out of the ether, I fear _juuuust_ isn't going to happen – I'm pretty sure the Priest and his 'godly'," he spoke this last word with air-quotations and a look of tiredness, "friends will do their best to make sure we never see outside these dank walls again…

"Yes," he sighed heavily, hands jammed in his lower coat pockets, eyes rising to meet the looming building as the sky seemingly fled behind it, "no doubt about it, Martha, there's going to be trouble…four will enter, two will leave."

The entered the strange building in sullen, awkward silence. It was only when they were several steps inside, their footfalls echoing around the dark walls that Martha felt she couldn't let it slide after all.

"That was an awful _Thunderdome_ joke," she grinned, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Huh…you _try_ and bring your banter kicking and screaming into the 21st Century…"

~**~

The gods watched the small party as they made their ways through the floodhouse from above, disembodied and close.

_Things have not gone entirely as planned_, Isis conceded as the Pharaoh led the way down a flight of stairs that stretched into the inky abyss. _But the Hem netjer has things under control. He has the strangers isolated from the public eye. They, too, can be the first to die, along with the Pharaoh._

_Shall we descend_? Asked the gruff tones of Anubis.

As if in confirmation, the Hem netjer raised his head, fixing their exact location with a knowing stare as he nodded, barely noticeable.

_Yes,_ intoned Isis with malevolent excitement. _We shall_…

~**~

"'Ang about," the Doctor tugged anxiously at Martha's arm, having caught sight of the High Priest's skyward glance and nod, "looks like things are about to kick-off…"

Sure enough, as they neared the bottom of the first stairwell landing, a sinister emerald glow began to emanate from far above them.

"You even _think _of saying '_They're heeereee_', and your shins won't know what's hit them," Martha warned as she hurried the Doctor down the remainder of the stairs.

"No more time for jokes," he agreed, grabbing her hand, "just run!"

Without another word the two barged past the Pharaoh and his zealot priest as, behind them, the four gods took shape amongst the light, drifting down the stairs.

"Look, my Lord!" bellowed the Hem netjer, throwing his arms wide. "_See_ how the heathens flee before the mere _sight_ of our gods! _Witness_ the guilt in their actions! _Know_ the truth in my words, now! Do you _believe_, O haraoh?"

But Rameses was transfixed by the terrifying sight approaching him. Nothing in the visages that met his eyes warranted the faith and devotion his upbringing had set upon him. "My…gods…" he groaned in utter revulsion and horror as he fell helplessly to his knees. Struggling to keep the tears from his eyes, he turned his head to stare, confounded, at his Hem netjer. "Mepheses…what have you _done_?"

"_I_ have done nothing," corrected the High Priest, "I am merely working on the gods' behalf, to make sure you complete the ritual. Together, the New Life of Earth…shall _begin_!"

**A/N: **Yes – it's that time again! Time for the next reincarnation of this Who-fic! But don't despair, for things have truly taken a turn for the better finally! I will not only be able to finish this story within the next week, but I'll be able to continue ahead with the rest of the planned series!

Until next time, faithful few…!


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"What are those things?!"

Usually, Martha found it enough of a challenge just to keep up with the Doctor whenever his instincts told him it was time to hotfoot it out of trouble, but this time was different; the layout of the floodhouse was so cramped and confusing that neither of them could run more than a few feet before being met with a tight turn. It didn't stop him from trying to reach his usual breakneck speeds, though.

"I have my suspicions!" he yelled, not looking back as he hit another wall, pushing away from it with the palms of his hands and literally bouncing off the corner. "One thing is definitely one-hundred percent clear now: they are most certainly _not_ gods, but something far worse. That Hem netjer knows what they are, and they've brainwashed him into cooperation, or – worse – he's aiding them of his own freewill. _I _know what they are," he added grimly, "they're Wasgijs!"

"That their name, then?" she narrowly avoided careening into the walls herself by copying the Time Lord's exact movements. If anything, this was more challenging than just pelting forward after him. _Figures_, she grunted, _he always takes me to the nicest places_. "Wasgij?"

"What? Oh, nah…they're a puzzle, only –" he was cut short as he suddenly ground to a halt mere feet in front of her, and Martha couldn't stop herself in time, crashing into his back with all the speed of a ram. Arms windmilling wildly at his sides as his wiry frame teetered precariously at the tip of a ledge they'd suddenly found themselves at, the Doctor cried out involuntarily. With a gasp, she hooked her hands under his armpits and pulled back with all her might. Perhaps too _much_ might…

The Doctor toppled back onto his young companion, the back of his head narrowly missing her nose as it fell to her right, dashing instead on the stone floor. He remained there for several seconds, and for those fear-filled moments Martha was sure he'd been rendered unconscious, leaving her all alone in a strange place with monsters baying at their heels. Then, a murmur, as his usually razor-sharp mind trying valiantly to recollect his thoughts, his mouth making an amusing goldfish impression as it failed utterly.

"Uhh…"

"Any time now, Doctor," Martha grumbled, pinned completely, " this is hardly fun for me, you know; for a weedy alien, you weigh a ton!"

"Oh, right," he clambered awkwardly to his feet, avoiding her gaze, "sorry about that, Martha – and 'ere!" he added, suddenly affronted, "I don't weight _that_ much, cheeky! I just carry a lot of, um…_stuff_ around with me, in my pockets and, er…stuff."

"Oh, really? Got any elephants nestled in there?" any further jibe was cut off by the sound of a feral growl, echoing down the maze-like corridors. "Or any cans of 'Gods-Be-Gone'?"

"I told you; they're not gods," he reiterated firmly, "they're…"

"I know, I know, they're '_wasgijs_', puzzles. Isn't everything with you?"

"You don't get it," his brow furrowed in deep frustrated thought. "Wasgigs are fiendish little blighters created by one of your lot, who decided that your average jigsaw puzzle wasn't nearly puzzling enough. So they created a puzzle _within_ a puzzle; it's a jigsaw, only the picture on the box isn't what the finished puzzle will resemble at all. _Noooo_, 'cos that would be too simple, that would. Instead, the box-art shows something _related_ to the puzzle – like a traffic-jam, meaning the puzzle will reveal what's in front, causing the jam, what those stuck behind it are staring so irately at. These gods…are kinda like that."

"They're like a traffic-jam?"

"Well, they'd definitely cause one," the Doctor mused softly at the thought, "causing delays on the A1 simply 'cause everyone's stopping to watch them attack the Angel of the North for being a '_heretic idol_'." He grinned that wide, madman grin she found so charming. "No, I mean they're like a wasgij in general; they may look like gods now, but I reckon that's only the box-art. The finished piece – whatever they are – looks totally different.

"Oh," she felt like mentally slapping her forehead. _Of course_! "I knew that."

"The _real_ question is," he went on, steamrolling over Martha's valiant attempts to save face (had he even noticed?), "why go to all the trouble of masquerading as these peoples' gods? They're obviously aliens, so chances are they would've been treated as deities anyway, had they come as they are originally. Unless they couldn't, or they couldn't take the chance, which would mean…they were _counting_ on the thoughtless loyalty the living gods would receive to achieve their goals…but what are they? Arrrgh, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" he snapped at himself, "You're so _close_! _Think_!"

"As much as I love to watch you go all 'Psycho-Poirot', Doctor, do you think you could do it sometime _after_ we've escaped the crazed killer-gods and the imminent flooding? Although I hope we're out of here by then…"

"What did you just say?" he turned slowly, eyes glowing softly behind his glasses. "Say it again."

"Uh…'_I hope we're out –_'"

"Nah, before that."

"'_Imminent flooding_'…?"

"Bingo!" crowed the Doctor, fist punching the air. "Yahtzee! _Boggle_! Okay, so that one doesn't quite work – but, oh, you're _fantastic_, Martha Jones!"

"I-I am?" she stammered, trying hard not to blush. "Er, thanks…I think…"

"That's _it_, it just has to be! _The flooding of the Nile_," he breathed in the quiet mix of awe, fear and resentment that usually crept up when he figured out part of the enemy's nefarious scheme. He stepped back to the ledge Martha had pulled him back from and peered carefully over it.

Several feet below, the river Nile flowed quietly by, two irrigation pipes allowing it to enter and leave the building. Turning on his heel, the Doctor spotted another set of stone stairs leading down, and into the water.

"But that's still not the complete puzzle, is it now?" he mused aloud as the growling sounded again, a lot closer this time, and this time accompanied by the sound of several shuffling sets of footsteps. "Nah, all we've got so far are the pieces we were given to put together. If we're to complete this wasgij, we gonna have to get the rest from the fearsome foursome out there. Don't worry," he added, shooting her another reassuring smile, "I won't let anything happen to you. Besides, I couldn't get us out of her, anyway; the only way out is the way we came, and I think we can both hear who's coming from that particular direction."

"What about the river?" Martha looked down at the surface of the Nile. "Doesn't look too dangerous to me…"

"It could very well be," he shook his head sadly, "no, that wouldn't work – we don't know where those tunnels lead exactly, or how long they go on for before they even break the surface. Also, the surface of the _river_ may seem calm, but looks can be deceiving; the current underneath could increase dramatically at any time, pulling us hopelessly under to a watery grave. No…believe it or not, you're safer up here."

"With them?" she cried incredulously.

"With _me_," he intoned with absolute authority and – just like that – she believed him.


	9. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Stoutly put, doctor," barked the cold, crisp voice of the Hem netjer, "but mere words alone won't save you now."

The two adventurers turned at the sound to find their only route of escape cut off from them by the gathering of the High Priest, his otherworldly 'gods', and the Pharaoh. The latter was eerily glassy-eyed and shuffled behind the others.

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor smothered his sarcasm with a masterful layer of charm, "they have before, believe it or not; fused a Cyberman's brain once, simply by asking him just how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if it could, y'know, actually _chuck_ logs about. Aww, yeah, that was a sight! One moment it's 'calculating this,' and 'computing that,'" he cast Martha a sly wink, but she didn't have to be told; she'd grown to read the signs when it came to his uniquely chatty ways of buying time. "The next thing you know, it's all 'ErrorErrorError-_BOOOM_'!" he threw his arms wide into the air, grinning maniacally. "But that's just me, you see. I'm clever like that."

"Long winded, too," growled the deadly beauty that was Isis.

"Ain't I , though?" his grin reached cheek-splitting proportions. Any further and it would fall off, Martha was sure. "Could talk for England, me – did, too," he added in afterthought, "once of twice, but that was before the good ol' Queen Victoria decided to banish me from the kingdom, an set-up Torchwood to make sure I stayed out. Didn't take to it for long, though, did I? was right back here before they even had the sense to scream for help! Can't be helped, I guess; these poor apes just seem to _attract_ trouble from things like you, don't they? _Misfortune-magnets_, that pretty much sums-up the human race! I dunno…"

"Can we just kill him before he starts up again?" sighed Anubis, but he was instantly waved into silence by his mistress Isis.

"Not just, yet," she intoned. "This one…_intrigues _me; for all his babbling, he's mentioned a few curious details. What exactly _do_ you know of the Cybermen, strange doctor?"

"_Weeell_, if you really don't want me babbling again, it would be quicker to ask me what I _don't_ know about the Cybers," retorted the Doctor with a cheeky grin, "'Cos, y'know, that would keep me silent on account of how anything I _would_ say counting as something I _did_ know after all, ergo defeating the purpose. In other words, I know _everything_ about the Cybermen – oh, but sorry! There I go again!" he playfully slapped his forehead. "So, what did you want to know? Tall silver chaps none too fond of gold, whose idea of upgrading sentient species is to bung their still-living brains into what is, effectively, a walking microwave with ideas _waaay_ above it's station. They prefer logic over emotion, are so cold they make Siberia seem like the core of the Sun, and – just between you and me – they have a nasty habit of tapping you on the shoulder and frying you before they can even get around to letting you know you dropped your wallet…and those blank faces! Either it's meant to empathize that they're completely devoid of all emotion, or they were really created to become the universe's greatest poker players, in which case they've sorely lost their way…enough for you, is it?"

"You talk in puzzles, Doctor –"

"Hah, that's rich coming from the traffic jams," snorted Martha, her courage bolstered by the obvious consternation the Doctor's patter was having on the malevolent beings.

"- but, nevertheless," Isis continued, brushing off Martha's scathing remark, "you are very well informed. Id' ask you more about this Queen…_Viktorea_ and her curious Torchwood, but I fear you'd talk us into the next century," the faux-goddess looked please with her caustic retort, but the Doctor wouldn't be outdone now.

"Quite possibly," he conceded softly, "I've got all the time in the world, after all – _after_ it, too. Unlike you four, however, who don't have very long at all, do you?" In a heartbeat, his tone had taken on a more serious, business-like hardness. "Whatever you've got planned, it needs to be done right _now_, before the flooding of the Nile really gets going, am I right? Nah, you don't have to say anything, Scooby's snarling there tells me I'm hitting on the truth," Anubis continued to snarl contemptuously, although Martha highly doubted it had understood the cartoon comparison, let alone be offended by it. "Well," continued the Doctor, "from the looks of you I'm guessing your intentions are _far_ from benign – about as far from being benign as you can _get_, I reckon, without having gone right around the world. So, any benevolent uses for the excess of water the inundation will bring are out of the question…which only leaves the _bad_ uses; the uses I'd have to stop."

"It's only business," smiled Isis frostily, her frightening serenity chilling Martha to the core. "But you cannot stop us, curious doctor. You could not possibly hope to stop us, even were you in possession of all the facts."

"Oh, well, you'd be surprised what I could stop with far _less_," he retorted just as coldly, all good-natured humour evaporating in the heat of her threats, "MacGuyver can't hold a candle to me…but, let's assume that, just for one second, you're correct and there's absolutely nothing I can do, and my friend and I here are going to die anyway and your plan will succeed. What harm could all the facts possibly do, then? Indulge me."

"We gods do not have to explain our actions to you mere _mortals_!" barked Anubis vehemently, taking a step forward.

The Doctor met him with a step of his own, eyes blazing. "Oh, you're barking up so many wrong trees there, Muttley. More than you could possibly imagine. But let's just suffice to say that I don't believe you are the true Ancient Egyptian gods any more than I fervently believe the Daleks are the most peaceful race in the cosmos. So let's start with _that_; what exactly are you?" stony silence met his demands, and his patience was wearing thin. "Okay, you know what, you're really giving me no choice. I _demand_ that you tell me your place of origin and species designation, as set down by the Shadow Proclamation! Tell me you _name_!"

This order seemed to have some magic over the four assembled gods as, stuggle all they wanted to keep their mouths shut, a reply was wrenched from their lips.

"We…are the…_Braxlavax_!"

**End of Chapter Seven**


	10. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hey, guys – sorry about another long update. Depression is a b$*&h, what else can I say? Hopefully I should be able to have this story finished before my birthday – March 24th! – so keep an eye on this one!

Chapter Eight

Despite his best efforts of restraint, the Doctor's bravado slipped momentarily from the news, his face visibly blanching. "The…the _Braxlavax_? No," he struggled down a gulp, "no, you can't be; your entire race was outlawed. You… you were all hunted down and wiped-out! You were _eradicated_!"

"Evidently not," sneered Isis (_or whatever she was_, Martha thought uneasily), "for here we stand before you."

"Doctor?"

That one word was question enough and, scowling gaze never leaving the 'gods' for a second, the Doctor answered her, "The Braxlavax, Martha, were – _are – _a race universally condemned for their choice in business ventures. They're black-market terrformers, illegal estate agents with the power and technology to alter entire worlds they have no claim to, all to meet their clients' needs, no matter the cost in native lives – sentient or not. Whatever their plans for Earth, I'm betting it doesn't include the preservation of the human race…"

"Of course not," the Hem netjer snorted derisively. "You can hardly expect us to present this planet to its new inhabitants when its current _infestation_ has not been dealt with. The disgusting human plague will drown as the waters of their world rises up to claim it completely, a perfect habitat for its new inheritors."

"You're crazy!" Martha exclaimed. "You're talking about genocide – and you're actually _working_ with these monsters!"

"It's not exactly genocide, Martha," the Doctor corrected her grimly as he inhaled deeply through his nose, "not if he's not _human_."

The Hem netjer smiled in cold surprise, cocking his head to one side as if regarding the Doctor in a new light. Martha turned to the Time Lord, mouth hanging open in bewilderment. The Doctor went on.

"The Braxlavax are chameleoids, shapes-shifters who can take on any form they wish for a few hours at a time. After that, their energy wanes and they have trouble controlling their abilities, turning into petrified stone – their species' version of _death_. To maintain their energy whilst not in their original states, they must consume…" he trailed off, a faint light clicking on behind his eyes. "_Ah_."

"'Ah'? 'Ah' what? Consume _what_, Doctor?"

"_Flesh_, Martha – they're ruthless carnivores. Which would explain the blood in the temple," he grimaced, "a light _snack_, was it?"

"Merely a bothersome priest who didn't know his place," Isis hissed, licking her lips at the memory. "But, I digress! It seems you've been building quite the list of suspicions against us."

"I'm a suspicious guy," the Doctor retorted sharply. "Comes from experience."

"I'm sure," she mused, her eyes narrowed with cold calculation. "But I wonder if it would surprise you if I were to reveal that I've had my suspicions about _you_ from the start, also? All this talk of Daleks and Cybermen, invocation of the Shadow Proclamation and, oh, so much knowledge about my own people! Could you truly be? Are you really him?" the Doctor said nothing, simply choosing to glower coldly into her eyes. "We thought nothing of it at first, of course; an urban legend, passed from planet to planet, race to race. A legend of a man, a formidable doctor who was renown for intervening in any hostile acts against this pathetic, primitive planet. Our clients warned us to be wary of your possible arrival, in fact, of your meddlesome interference… but we simply dismissed these cautions silently, thinking them as nothing more than the worried machinations of a lesser species…

"But, here we are, poised to wipe out all life above the water from the face of this planet… and here _you_ are, Doctor, to stop us. The determination and dedication of a _Time Lord_ truly is remarkable."

The Doctor's jaw clenched. "Well, he growled, "that's everything out in the open… or almost everything – who exactly are your clients? I want to know who to go after once I'm done with you."

"You may well know them, Doctor," Isis smiled again, taking dark glee in the effect her words had had on her captive, and showing no signs of feeling intimidated by his threats. "Or maybe you will _get_ to know them; my people were never given the chance to understand the fundamentals of time travel."

"Can you guess why?" he snapped back. "If given the knowledge of time travel, your race could go back to any time they desired – wipe out any race before it truly began! Just like you're trying to do here…"

"Just like we _will_ do here, Doctor!" vowed Anubis, jagged teeth bared.

"But that is besides the point," Isis held up her hand for silence before continuing. "You asked who our clients are? Very well, although the information will do you little good. Our clients," she repeated, speaking each word with cold calculation, "are the _Zygons_."

Martha only had to see the look of terrified amazement in his eyes to know that this was bad news to the Doctor, that this was a terrible, unholy alliance, and that a lesser-man would have crumbled under all the successive revelations. But her Time Lord friend was the strongest man she had ever met, and he quickly composed himself once again.

"The _Zygons_?" he seethed in disbelief. "Why? Their homeworld is still intact now, it doesn't get destroyed for centuries. Why seek refuge now?"

"Who said anything about refuge, Doctor? The Zygons are expanding their empire – although I'm sure they'd be devastated to hear of the impending doom of their homeworld," mused Isis, reaching into the folds of her shawl. "No, they are _claiming_ this world, a perfect hatching pool, and they will do so with our help… and with _this_."

With that, her hand withdrew from her shawl, clutching a small, misshapen metallic box with a single flashing violet light. Astoundingly, the Doctor responded by reaching into his own suite-jacket, quickly fishing out his sonic screwdriver before any of the five Braxlavax could move to stop him.

"Relax, it's just a simple scanner," he lied and, after an uneasy moment's silence, the other four visibly relaxed around Isis.

_They fell for it_, Martha felt like shouting with relieved joy. Obviously, the Braxlavax hadn't had a chance to explore or recognise sonic technology, either. _Risky bluff, Doctor – I just hope you get it to pay off._

Pushing his glasses up on his nose, the Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver at the strange little device and pressed a button. The Braxlavax tensed at the sudden high-pitched squeal and pinpoint of blue light. "_Relax_," he reassured them, maintaining his façade of innocence, "it's completely harmless, entirely for diagnostics… in fact, right now it's telling me that that's a compact transmutation augmenter, capable of replicating the hydrogen-hydrogen-oxygen molecule an infinitesimal number of times at any give time. Now, if memory serves me correctly, the Zygons are well-known for their patience, and that device alone would take decades to flood the Earth. Which means," he added, sweeping the screwdriver around the stone-hewn room for some sign, "that you must have an amplifier nearby, set to pump enough power into that baby to complete a century's worth of conversion and replication in a matter of seconds, but where? I'm getting faint readings from everywhere, almost as if I'm reading the energy's reverberations… oh, _no_."

The sonic screwdriver arced slowly upwards, the squeal instantly rising to a teeth-gritting shrillness. He held it there, shouting over the ringing. "Energy readings are off the scale! I take it that's your mothership up there?" he flicked off the sonic device so he could be better heard, "Man, you must have every unnecessary system switched off to reroute power to the amplifier! Wow," he murmured just low enough for Martha to pick-up, "could I have possibly sounded any more _Star Trek_ just then?"

"Probably," Martha smirked, "but don't let that stop your prognosis, Mr. Spock… erm, actually, _do_ let me stop you: what's a…a transmit… transmutation augmenter?"

The Doctor looked at her in mild surprise, almost as if he'd honestly not expect this, but Martha shrugged unashamedly; it didn't matter how long she travelled with him, she'd decided with heavy resignation early on that there would always be some things new and strange to her, and that this was one of them.

"Well," after a moment's awkward silence the Doctor pocketed the sonic screwdriver, "imagine water molecules are, ahh, like popcorn kernels. Yeah, lots and lots of un-popped popcorn kernels, all tightly packed together. Until, that is, the transmutation augmenter comes along like a microwave and zaps those popcorny molecules, which all… well, _pop_. An' get bigger. A lot, lot bigger… Okay, so we're not talking about enlarged water molecules, but hopefully you get the picture. When that baby gets the jolt the amplifier's set to give it, there'll be a lot more water around than is reasonably sane."

"So… it will copy and paste the Earth's water over and over again?"

He looked at her again, a lopsided grin tracing his lips. "Exactly – and a great analogy, too! Better than mine, at any rate… but no, it won't, because I won't let it."

"Oh, Doctor… confident and defiant to the last – there is nothing you can do. In a few seconds the river's inundation will begin, signalling the end of the human race and all they have struggled to create. All will be submerged, and all will drown – including you and your companion." Isis glowed with sinister glee.

"And you, too," the Doctor retorted, "or weren't you aware?" he added at the sight of the false goddess' mouth dropping an inch. "Oh, sorry, didn't I mention that? When I said every unnecessary system onboard your ship has been deactivated to divert power to the amplifier, that just happens to includes the matter-transportation system. Seems your superiors deemed you _expendable_, Isis… you're stuck here, and unwitting suicide-squad. But that can all change."

"You're suggesting an ultimatum?" seethed Isis, more angry at this sudden revelation of betrayal than at the Doctor himself, her looks taking an even more venomous tint as he fate dawned on her.

"A choice," he corrected softly. "You know that if you activate that device now, you're all dead. Give it up to me, and I can help you; I can take you _and_ the Zygons to a suitable planet that has no sentient life. They're happy, you get paid, and you get to _live_. You turn that on," he gestured towards the innocent-looking lump of machinery, "and that chance is thrown away, and I'll stop you."

"I'd very much like to see you try."

"That's a 'no', then?" growled the Doctor.

"No, Doctor," Isis sneered, the knuckle of her thumb whitening as it pressed down hard on the augmenter's single button. "_This is._"

**End of Chapter Eight.**


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"No!" Martha screamed, taking an involuntary step forward, throat tightening in a valiant attempt to stop her heart from leaping out. The Doctor held her back, however, his face set grimly.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he said solemnly, "I tried to warn you, I really did… I'm so sorry, I truly am. But you left me no choice."

"What are you prattling about?" hissed Isis, eyes narrowing on the device in her clawed hands. "Why won't this blasted thing work?" she roared in consternation, rounding on her cohort Anubis, "You! If our engineers have failed…!"

The Doctor stepped firmly between the two of them, face dark, eyes piercing into hers. "They haven't," he assured her, voice low and chilling, "the augmenter works perfectly… I just lied about what _this_ little beauty does," he produced his sonic screwdriver once again with a flourish, sidestepping the 'goddess's violent swipe as he held it high above his head, "Which is to say, it does quite a lot more than scanning."

"What did you _do_?!" roared Anubis, hackles rising.

"Back off, Scooby," growled the Time Lord, swinging the sonic in the alien's direction, "because for what you four just tried to do, I'm awfully tempted to see what this does to your genetic makeup." Anubis snarled, but backed away. "Right – if you _really_ want to know what's happened, it's simple; I set my sonic device to reverse the signal of that augmenter. Basically, it went _up_ instead of _down_. As a result, your mothership not only amplified the transmutation process, but became the reception point…"

"…For all that water," gasped Isis, all venom and colour draining from her face, to be replaced with ghostly fear. "No… Doctor, surely you wouldn't be…"

"Wouldn't be what? So cruel?" spat the Doctor, voice dripping with contempt. "Funny that, isn't it?" You could've happily condemned the entire human race to a horrific watery death without a second thought. And yet, here we are, roles _slightly_ reversed, and suddenly _I'm_ the cruel monster. Kinda puts everything into perspective, doesn't it?"

"Our mothership was the last of our fleet!" howled Isis.

"You seem to forget, they were going to let you die anyway," Martha retorted wryly, arms crossed.

"Human simpleton! You don't understand! We were the very _last_ of our kind!" the hooked beak of Horus clicked fearfully. "We're the _last_ of the Braxlavax now, just us five…!"

"Who's mass-murderer _now_, Doctor?" Isis' query wasn't even attempting to conceal the accusation it carried.

"I…I didn't know," the Doctor couldn't think of anything more to say, but the horror in his eyes spoke volumes. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry…but you left me no choice. I _gave_ you a chance, I really did…"

"We five are all that remains of our race," repeated Isis, her tone darkening as her four fearsome cohorts gathered tightly by her sides, a green light enshrouding them all, "and I swear, for the honour and memory of the slaughtered, that you shall not _live_ to rue your actions! Shall _die_ here, Doctor!"

"_Aaaaannd_ that's our cue to exit, stage any-way-but-that-one. Run, Martha!" he roared, hooking her arm as he took off back the way they'd come, skirting around the five Braxlavax as they began to merge, their visages fusing into an ink-blot-like form. "You, too, Rammy!" he called, grabbing the Pharaoh's arm as well.

"What-what happened?" spluttered Rameses II, life flickering back into his glazed eyes as he stumbled behind the pair of them. He looked back over his shoulder as the misshapen amalgamation of Braxlavax rose and took a more definitive shape. "What in the name of Ra's Light is _that_?!"

_That_, had either the Doctor or Martha chose to likewise glance back as they fled, now towered at a staggering twenty feet, had the alluring body of Isis, the canine head of Anubis, its muzzle stretched to take-on the hooked-beak of Horus, its maw filled with rows upon rows of Ammut's serrated crocodile teeth. When its transformation was complete, the behemoth rolled its head, eagle eyes the size of dishes scanning the room, a fearsome feral roar escaping its lips that shook the sand and dust from every crack and crevice in the room when it saw that its target had eluded it.

"_**Where are you going, Doctor**_**?**" it bellowed, its growling tones following the retreating party as they round the last corner of the winding corridor and arrived at the foot of the stairwell up to the surface. "_**You cannot escape our judgement now**_**!**"

"Just watch me," he muttered under his breath as he led Martha and the Pharaoh up the stairs two at a time. "I'm good at that, escaping judgement. Got the silver…"

They emerged from the flood house into the glaring sunlight only to be welcomed by a wall of spears. Stumbling to a halt, the Doctor laughed nervously and dropped the arm of Rameses. "Oh, boy…"

The royal guard were visibly spooked – doubtlessly they had heard the roaring and commotion echoing up from the building's bowels, and were so on edge they looked likely to do serious damage at the first scare.

Rameses strode out in front of the Doctor and his companion, arms raised with the authoritarian airs that demanded instant obedience whilst expertly hiding the fear he had been exhibiting only seconds before.

"Lower your weapons," he commanded sternly, "these outlanders are _not_ our enemies. It is Mepheses! Our own Hem netjer – our _High Priest_ – has betrayed us! He has sided with _monsters_ masquerading as our gods! He – _they_ – must be stopped: your Pharaoh Rameses commands it!"

"Oh, good ol' Rammy!" the Doctor cheered, flashing the bemused Pharaoh a winning smile. "I've always said you were the greatest Pharaoh! A bit…" he hesitated, face twisting in an awkward grimace, "_shorter_ than I imagined, but then again I guess that's hieroglyphs for you, eh? But, oh, what a leader! You wouldn't know it from the air of command he's exuding that he was scared witless moments ago, and a mind-controlled zombie before that, would you?" he winked to Martha, keeping that last comment to a secretive whisper between the two of them. "Am I getting wet?"

Martha scowled. "You're nine hundred years old, Doctor – incontinence was bound to happen sooner or later."

He gave her a short, withering look. "Hold your hands out," he replied simply, throwing his own arms out to his sides, palms up. "Feel _that_!"

She followed his example tentatively, and was soon met with warm splashes of water as a shower began to descend upon Cairo. "I don't believe it!" she laughed, beaming. "Rain? Here?"

But the Doctor didn't share her joy, eyes cast ashamedly to his feet. "It's not rain, Martha," he sighed heavily, "look around you. Look up."

Balancing on her tiptoes, Martha scanned the streets beyond the royal guard, and gasped at what she saw. People were fleeing down the street, terrified as molten debris fell from the sky like meteorites, slamming into the sand and domiciles alike, exploding in a ball of fire and red-hot metal. Looking up, she saw a giant, acrid black cloud mushrooming overhead, from which the blazing debris was falling.

"Is that…?"

"The remains of the Braxlaxian mothership," the Doctor confirmed sullenly. "All that excess water suddenly appearing onboard, swelling through the decks, flooding everything until there was finally nowhere else for it to go. Then it was just a simple matter of what would give first – the water's un-abating tide, or the ship's integrity…"

"And water always wins," Martha found she was breathing hard, unable to tear her eyes away from the destruction in the sky.

"Actually, I was going to say it's pretty obvious which gave-out first, but that's much better," conceded the Time Lord, "I love that, Martha – might even use it in future. Oh, well…" he sighed, smiling bravely at his companion.

"Oh?" she repeated hesitantly.

"I guess it _does_ rain in Africa!" the tight smile split into a wide grin, the guilt stored away – along with countless other accounts – in the deep recesses of his subconscious.

"_Oh_," Martha groaned inwardly at the terribly joke. "You're hopeless sometimes…"

"Yeah, but you love me," he agreed cheekily.

_You have no idea how close you are, you mad man_.

But before either adventurer could take another step, the ground beneath their feet shook and the surface of the Nile roiled violently. The Doctor looked to his companion, sharing a knowing look.

"Looks like the god-mashup got out of the flood house through those tunnels," he shouted over the roar of bubbling water.

"Oh, just great," groaned Martha, "more running?!"

"Don't be too sure…!"

The surface broke, exploding upwards as the hellish figure of the giant Braxlavax hybrid rose to its full height, Anubis' jaws snapping with a deafening crack, fish swallowed whole.

"_**There you are, Doctor**_**!**" it roared as it loomed over the humans (and Time Lord) gathered on the river's banks. "_**Witness the true power of the Braxlavax, murderer of our people, as it is used for vengeance against you**_**!**"

"Give it your best shot," growled the Doctor, not moving an inch as, all around him, terrified royal guards dropped their spears and fled. "I vowed to stop you, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

**End of Chapter Nine**

**A/N: Slight delay to my intended update schedule - a weak immune system is making food poisoning a common occurence, damn it all - but nevertheless this WILL be finished by the 24th! How can I be so sure, I hear you ask (or not?) Well, this is the penultimate chapter, followed by an epilogue that will hint towards greater and darker things in the Doctor's future should this story actually become a series...**

**Which, on a similar note, is all down to YOU, the readers/fans (of the show, not necessarily of me, lol). You've all been hanging on ever-so patiently, and I'm very grateful to have such a great, engrossed readership. The question is, do YOU want to read more of my planned DW stories? If you go back to the Note a few chapters back you'll see some of the adventures I have planned. But I can't promise a speedy update schedule right now, only that I'll try my very best to be more regular than I have been with this one. So, do YOU want more Who? Or should it all end in Egypt?**

**Dave**


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The Doctor cut an impressive and awe-inspiring figure, standing fast on the bank of the river Nile, silently staring-down the giant Braxlavax hybrid as, all around him, the Royal Guard of the Pharaoh panicked and fled for their lives. And, although she knew the logical thing to do would be to run also, Martha Jones couldn't help but feel drawn to his side, albeit slightly nervous.

"Why aren't we running?" she asked, her hand instinctively slipping into his for comfort and strength.

"No point," the Doctor assured, never once taking his deep brown eyes off the monster alien amalgamation. "We're safe enough here, for the time being at least."

"Er, correct me if I'm wrong Doctor, but I've seen more than enough _Godzilla_ movies to know that when the Big Ugly rises angrily from the deep, it's better to be far, far away."

"Ahh, but you see!" a thin smile traced along his lips. "Godzilla was never a shape shifting alien, now was she? Might've tangled with a couple, mind you…"

"Wait, Godzilla was a 'she'?"

"_**Whatever you're planning, Doctor, it shall do you no good**_**!**" boomed Isis' jeering tones from the muzzle of Anubis. "**You,**_** the slaughterer of the Braxlavax, shall perish where you stand**_**!**" With a growl, the monstrous alien lifted a foot the size of a bathtub up from the riverbed, weeds and other aquatic plant life clinging to its toes like an infection.

"Okay," conceded the Doctor blithely as the shadow of the foot loomed over Martha and himself, "maybe we _should_ back up a bit after all – like, right _now_."

He jumped back nimbly, yanking Martha along with him, who stumbled far less elegantly. The hideous foot slammed down upon the spot the pair of them had only just occupied, kicking-up a cloud of dust and sand.

"_**You cannot run forever, **_**Doctor!**" laughed Isis as the hybrid dragged itself out of the river to stand on the bank not four feet from the two companions. "_**Sooner or later, we **_**will**_** crush you – and all the human vermin that scurry alongside you**_**!**"

"She's talking about you," the Doctor interjected with an elbow in Martha's side.

"Ow! And I _knew_ that," she groused, "but instead of pointing out the obvious and making it madder, shouldn't we be running now?"

"Like I said, Martha, there's really no point. Oh, sure, the towering menagerie here can stomp all it wants, but I think you'll find their time is just about up…"

"_**Don't try and postpone your inevitable demise with your inane prattling, Time Lord**_," the huge canine head spat a globule of saliva the size of a football to the side, the viscous ball striking a domicile with all the force of a cannonball, destroying a wall. "_**It is **_**your**_** days that are numbered**_**!**"

"Oh, really?" beamed the Doctor, his ears twitching. "Well then how come _I'm_ not the one cracking up?"

"_**We find our vengeance not to be a laughing matter**_**!**"

"Not 'cracking-up' as in 'funny-ha-ha'," he corrected the huge monstrosity before him, pointing a finger at its feet, "I meant 'cracking up' as in _literally_ cracking up…as in, turning to _stone_."

"_**WHAT?!**_" the Braxlavax hybrid took an alarmed step back, almost teetering on the bank of the Nile as it brought a foot up with tremendous difficulty. The reason for this soon became apparent to all, as the flesh on the soles of its feet visibly began drying-up, turning a pale shade of grey before cracking into a distinctly rocky matter. "_**No…No, this – this cannot be**_**!**_** The feeding deadline is still for another hour**_**! **_**How...How is this possible**_**?!**"

"Science," answered the Doctor grimly, his face – for want of a better phrase – set in stone as the Braxlavax's feet now became completely petrified, the process lacing relentlessly up its shins, "I'm so sorry, but it's simple science; alone – apart – you would have had that hour before needing to feed again, but together _and_ by increasing your joint-mass to such extreme levels you've simply exhausted all available energy in a fraction of the time."

"_**Then…then we shall separate**_**!**" as this was proclaimed, the giant hybrid began to ripple and split from the torso, but was quickly stopped by the Doctor, who simply held up a hand.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, the petrifaction process has already begun on _all_ of you, as one. To separate successfully is not possible once the process starts in bonded form. I'm afraid you're stuck together until the end…"

"_**Then we shall feed upon **_**you! **_**You shall sustain us, and save us from death**_**!**" the Braxlavax hybrid reached forward, unable to bend down now that the petrifaction had reached its waist.

"Again, it's too late to reverse the process, even if I _were_ to let you feed. There's nothing that can be done, I'm sorry." The Doctor sighed and rummaged in his coat pocket, retrieving his sonic screwdriver soon after. "But I can give you another choice; I can speed-up the process, and ease your suffering…or I can leave you as you are, doomed to petrify slowly and painfully here, the last of your kind."

"_**You'd **_**like**_** that, wouldn't you, Doctor**_**?**_** To finish what you started, to eradicate the last of the Braxlavax completely by your **_**own**_** hand**_**!**" giant hands clutched painfully at its abdomen as it turned, irreversibly, to stone.

"Now, wait, that's not what I meant…!"

"_**Even in victory, you seek to destroy even further…No, we shall not perish by **_**your**_** hands, Murderer, but by our own. We initiated our own demise, and we shall see it through like **_**true**_** Braxlavax**_**!**"

With the petrifaction process now reaching its upper torso and racing down its arms, the Braxlavax hybrid dropped its arms to its sides, and held its head proudly aloft. Only its eyes moved, drifting down to glower balefully at the Doctor and his companion.

"_**A **_**curse**_** on you, Doctor, and all the human-race you strive to protect. We have seen the future…and this planet deserves **_**everything**_** that's coming to it**_**!**" with a low, choked laugh, the hybrid raised its eyes straight ahead as the petrifaction rose up around the muzzle of Anubis.

Martha shuddered, and went to look away, but the Doctor squeezed her hand. "No," he told her firmly, "be here, with me. I couldn't stand to face this alone…"

Taking a deep breath, Martha turned back just in time to see the petrifaction reach the cheekbones of the Braxlavax hybrid, a single tear brimming on its eye before that, too, was turned to stone.

Seconds later, the last of the Braxlavax race was no more. What stood in its place, now nothing more than a statue of a species best left forgotten. Even then, the Doctor did not move for some time, staring solemnly into the stony visage of his most recent foe with a profound look of regret.

He was brought out of his sad reverie when Martha squeezed his hand once more. Taking a quick breath, he squinted into the setting sun across the Nile before turning to her once more.

"We should leave," he said, his voice hollow and devoid of any sense of triumph, "we should…We should just leave and never come back here again."

"Leave?" asked an incredulous voice from behind them. Blinking with mild surprise, the Doctor rounded on this voice to find Rameses II standing before them, tall and unshaken despite all that had transpired. "Why leave now? You are heroes of Egypt, and should be celebrated as such!"

"No, don't," the Doctor replied curtly, stepping up to the Pharaoh and placing a hand on his shoulder. "_Don't_ call us that; we're not heroes, Your Majesty. Murder never makes someone a hero. We just…did what needed to be done, and I deeply regret the cost. I wanted a peaceful resolution, I truly did."

"But, nevertheless, you have saved my people," Rameses answered him firmly, placing his own hand upon the Doctor's shoulder, "and that is something I simply cannot ignore. You may not want to be called a hero, Doctor, but you are nonetheless a valiant soldier, and one who should be recognised as such. Here," the Pharaoh stepped back, lifting his hands to his head. Before either the Doctor or Martha could move to stop him, he had removed his Nemes, his striped headdress, and held it before him, an offering to the Doctor.

The Doctor stood there, speechless for once in his life although his mouth still tried to say something, opening and closing silently for several moments before he managed, "Uh, ah…oh, I really couldn't accept this, Your Majesty. Surely it would bring you dishonour by giving it to a commoner like me…"

"Nonsense, you would do me a greater dishonour by _not_ accepting this," answered the Pharaoh sternly, forcibly placing it into the Time Lord's hands. "Wherever you go, may it serve as a sign to others that you carry my favour. And the young lady…?"

"Oh, no," Martha blushed, fidgeting under the Pharaoh's admiring gaze, "no, really, there's nothing. I'm fine, really…"

"Again – nonsense! I'm sure the servants can find you an elegant dress to match your beauty in my palace. You must dine with me tonight," he added, all warm-hearted authority.

"Oh, no, we couldn't," the Doctor interjected, feeling this shower of gifts and gratitude would be unceasing if he didn't nip it in the bud. "Like I said, we really should be leaving. We've got other places we need to be, other people we need to help…"

"I understand, Doctor, of course," sighed Rameses regretfully, "how inconsiderate of me. Very well! I shall have two of my best steeds given to you to hasten your journey!"

"Aw, no – _more _camels?" groaned Martha, quickly followed by an indignant yelp as the Doctor elbowed her sharply once again.

"That's very kind of you, but we already have transport waiting for us by the Pyramid of Giza… I'm sorry, did I say something wrong? Is it not called that yet?"

"Oh, it is," confirmed the Pharaoh, regarding the two travellers with close scrutiny. "This…_transport_ you speak of. Would it happen to be a blue wooden obelisk?"

"Obelisk, that's a new one – but yes, Your Majesty, that's the one. Why?"

"A patrol picked it up before all this took place, Doctor, and brought it back to my palace for observation!" the warm smile was back on Rameses' face, his arms thrown wide open. "It would seem the gods – the _real_ gods, by Ra – have ordained for us to dine together after all! You shall come to my palace, eat with me whilst we find your lovely companion a suitable gift, then – then you shall be seen off as a true hero. Sorry, a _true_ soldier."

"That's very kind of you," the Doctor replied cheerily whilst turning to Martha with a silent 'What Can You Do?' look on his face. "Lead the way, Your Majesty, whilst I try my vest best to walk like an Egyptian!"

"…You're terrible, you know that?" sighed Martha with a soft laugh.

**~***~**

It was drawing close to midnight before the Pharaoh was sufficiently satisfied with the time the two travellers had spent with him; the food had grown cold and the live music had died, the musicians excused for the night, leaving the Doctor and Martha alone with the historical figure, albeit for some Royal Guards posted at the doorways.

"Your blue obelisk awaits you in the courtyard," Rameses informed them, his voice slightly slurred from the copious amounts of wine he had imbibed during their meal together, "although _how_ it serves as a mode of transport is far beyond my understanding; there are no wheels nor steeds by which to pull it, no handles for servants to carry it nor any door through which to be seated within. A most puzzling contraption, and one I would very much like to see in operation, with your permission."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the Doctor nodded, rising to pull his coat back on only to have Martha pull him aside sharply.

"What are you _doing_?" she hissed, "When he sees the TARDIS just evaporate who knows what could happen? Couldn't it change the timeline if he was witness to technology from the future?"

"Relax, Martha, ol' Rammy's obviously had more than one too many," he assured her with a smile, "the worst that could happen is that he brands us as witches and orders us to be killed on sight – "

"Oh, _that's_ a relief…"

"_But we'll never be coming back here again_," he continued firmly, "not if I can help it, anyway. Besides, that's the worst-case scenario. Chances are he'll forget about it all in the morning, thanks to a stonking hangover. Now, shall we leave here finally?"

"Not a second too soon," she growled as he snatched up the bundle that carried her new silk dress, "if I hear someone refer to me as a 'Nubian' behind my back one more time…!"

"Off we go, then!" he piped up before she could fume any longer. He took the Pharaoh's shaky hand and helped him to his feet, slipping under the man's arm for support, "Allons-y, Ramm-y!"

Several minutes later they were out in the brisk night air, the three of them standing before the TARDIS. It was a sight for sore eyes, that much was clear when the two travellers silently exchanged glances over the stooped figure of Rameses II.

"Can you stand, Your Majesty?" asked the Doctor softly, "I need to open the door."

"Ridiculoush," snorted the Pharaoh, staggering on his feet as the Doctor strode briskly to the TARDIS, keys appearing with a flourish in his hand. "My men shearched that obelishk – there ish no door, Doctor."

"None that opens _outwards_," answered the Doctor with all the flair of a magician performing the greatest of illusions as, with a turn of the key, the door to his ship swung inwards with a slow creak. "Come on, Martha."

"Your Majesty," Martha smiled tightly at the Pharoah, who stood open-mouthed at the light that poured out of the TARDIS. "It's been great meeting you."

"Like…wise…" he gasped, blinking tightly. "Charmed…"

Several seconds later, the door was closed behind them, and the Pharaoh was alone, staring dumbfounded at the blue obelisk that once again seemed to show no signs of a door.

But the mystery didn't end there as, with a hollow drone, the strange obelisk seemed to fade in and out of his vision. Gasping, Rameses dabbed at his bleary eyes just as the droning seceded into strange birdsong…

When he opened them again, the mysterious blue obelisk was gone.

**~***~**

"_Well_," the Doctor sighed heavily as his hands left the controls of the TARDIS, "that was an experience I'm not all too eager to go through again. You know, that's _twice _I've faced the so-called Egyptian gods – neither time worked-out all that well."

"So, where to now?" asked Martha, hanging her new dress over the side of a railing. "Can we _please_ not do history for sometime? You're not the only one that wants to put this whole sorry mess behind them, you know."

"Yeah…but, hey! Wasn't it your idea to come here in the first place?" he gave her a mock-accusing stare. "That must make it _my_ turn to decide the destination, right?"

"Uh, excuse me," his companion smiled, crossing her arms. _Two can play this game_. "I specifically remember you saying you wanted to go somewhere without guns, which brought us to Egypt, therefore that _was_ your decision."

"Yes, well…fine, no more history for the time being." He gave her a beaming smile. "Future it is, then!"

And, with that, he hammered the button that pitched them forward into the timestream…

**End of Chapter Ten**

**AN: The Epilogue is still to come! Yay for reaching deadlines!**


	13. Epilogue NEW!

**Epilogue**

_The Morning After…_

It had taken a dozen slaves several hours in the baking sun and blistering sand, but finally the twenty-foot tall statuesque corpse of the Braxlavax 'gods' had been transferred from the banks of the Nile to a chamber deep in the foundations of the Valley of the Kings. The Pharaoh himself was there to witness its delivery and erection.

"Careful with that!" he bellowed as the petrified hybrid pitched forward sharply, the slaves scrabbling to regain a hold on their ropes. "They may not have been gods, but you shall handle them with respect, nonetheless! _Ra knows what might wake them up again_," he added fearfully under his breath.

"What…what is it, Sire?" inquired the foreman with a wipe of his brow. "It looks like several of gods, and yet none at the same time…a truly horrific sight."

_You should have seen it when it was alive_, the Pharaoh sighed and turned to address the foreman. "It is a long story, and one I have little desire to recount again so soon."

"Very well, Sire, but," the foreman hesitated, not wishing to speak out of place, "but, your Majesty, what of the heroes, those who saved us?"

"They wished to be called nothing more than ordinary travellers," Rameses corrected, "but you have a point; although they wished not to be acknowledged, I'm afraid there's just too much to be kept quiet. The world _must_ know, future generations _must_ be prepared."

"So, you think they're all connected?" asked the foreman, gazing cautiously at the towering alien fossil. "Those two travellers, this statue, and… and _them_?"

The Pharaoh sighed heavily, pinching his brow. He had tried desperately to put the traumatising ordeal of the first visitors far behind him, but it would seem the past would forever haunt his memories. "Indeed, I do. There's something…_not_ of this world about them all." Another reluctant sigh, a clap of his hands. "Let's go, everyone! I desire this chamber to be sealed-up, until such a time we are ready to face the omens they contain… and if I ever see another visitor in my lifetime, it will be too soon…"

And so, the large chamber was evacuated, leaving behind the petrified remains of the Braxlavax, an obelisk with panelled carvings on all sides and a cylindrical tip, and some paintings on the wall between the two.

Paintings of a thin man in robes of brown and blue, and of his female companion, dressed in crimson…

…And paintings of two conical figures standing either side of a deep, dark hole…

**The End**

**Next Time: **A remote scientific outpost. A seemingly-derelict spacecraft that holds a terrifying secret that could endanger all life. A project gone horribly wrong. With all hell breaking loose, do two mysterious stowaways hold the key to salvation?

S1E2: **The Starbase of the Dead.**

**A/N: **Yes, I've decided to continue this into a series, or at least a miniseries of six stories! If all goes well, I may branch into a 'full series' of around 12-13 adventures. Either way, the overall plot we're beginning to build up to WILL come to pass – and it'll be one hell of a ride, albeit one that will derive majorly from Series 4 (the Tate series), hence branching off into non-canon territory nearer the end.

Thank you one and all for staying with me to the end of this one! Hopefully it's been a ride you don't regret taking with me, despite all the pesky delays! 'Starbase of the Dead' begins TODAY, and will – like any good _Who_ fanfic series – display a total change in tone as the setting changes to 20,000 years or more into our future!

See you there!

Dave


	14. Next Week

**Special Note**

Greetings, one and all! It is I, Dave aka GeriatricYoda here with a quick note to inform/remind you that this Doctor Who series IS continuing, and that the first two chapters of S1E2: "The Starbase of the Dead" can be read _here_: .net/s/5827194/1/The_Starbase_of_the_Dead . You can expect BIG things of this one, folks - planning for this second episode has been verging towards epic proportions! So, don't just expect a standard 'zombie horror in Space with the Doctor conviniently thrown in'! It all has a purpose... one you may never see coming!

* * *

_"One person is operating that entire vessel?" repeated the Commander incredulously, "But_ Challengers _require a minimum skeleton crew of nine. Scan it again. Maybe your systems aren't as advanced as you like to think."_

_"The_ Schrödinger's _scanners are operating at one-hundred and ten percent efficiency, Commander," Hub answered curtly, the emotionless tones disregarding the seemingly blithe retort. "Perhaps the more logical assumption is that the unidentified Challenger launched with an effectively larger crew, and that number has simply…_diminished _since then."_

_McCormack grimaced, and stroked his chin. "That's a pleasant thought. But, then why come here? There are a dozen other UEF stations based closer to any hospitable planet than this scrapheap… why come this far out of their way, especially if they're understaffed? You are sure?" he added for clarification._

_"Secondary scans are complete and confirm: there is only one life sign onboard. Unidentified vessel now at four lightyears, and closing…"_

_..........._

_"...I don't know what's waiting for us down there," sighed the Commander as he rose and holstered his plasma handgun, "but I have a very bad feeling about all this…"_

_The new scans revealed one life sign…but over fifty separate motion sources…_

...........

_"Corporal Rockwell, good to go, Sir!"_

_"Anderson ready, Sir!"_

_"Mayfair, armed and dangerous!"_

_"Guildford, running hot!"_

_"Beaufort – oh, I'm good, baby…"_

_"Okay, okay!" snapped Sergeant Keller, gesturing sharply for his team to fall-in. "Quite the theatrics, people! Just a simple 'here' would've sufficed. Now, we're about to go and see just what Hub's dragged through the cat-flap this time, but don't let the Commander's orders for arms got get you all excited, you hear? Safeties on, and hold your fire until expressly ordered otherwise. Are we clear?!"_

_"**Oorah!**" roared the team in unison._

............

_"Regardless, Doctor Utada, any theories that could aid the First Contact would be invaluable," assured the Hub, "now, that theory?"_

_"Well," Ruri took a deep breath, scarcely believing what she was about to propose, "if we are looking at over fifty new life forms roaming freely on a ship that can hold a maximum-capacity of eighty, but which is only registering one, then that would lead me to deduce that we may be looking at carnivores, and that the crew…oh," her voice died in her throat as she struggled to fight back a vile gagging-reflex, but the Schrödinger's A.I. was smart enough to finish the train of thought for her._

_"So there is a high possibility that these new life forms – if that it is, indeed, what they are," it added, a gesture the scientist would've taken as kind-hearted reassurance from anyone else, but knew was little more than clarification of the facts to the Hub, "- these new life forms could very well have attacked and killed the crew...."_

.........

_Kenshiro 'Kenny' Junior knew better than to try and enter the Docking Bay through the main door, figuring that the arrival of such a damaged Challenger this far from any planet would've attracted the attention of the military Response Teams stationed on the Schrödinger by now – he wouldn't get both feet in the bay before he was spotted by a grunt. But after a year stuck on the station with little else to do than explore, young Kenny had his ways around every obstacle. _

_Stopping just short of the corridor leading to Twelve's door, he crouched beside a steel grate and turned to the access panel, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he hurriedly tapped in the access-codes. A gleam that quickly faded when the panel emitted a flat 'blart', denying him entry..._

..........

_McCormack breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "At ease, men," he ordered, keeping his own weapon trained on the shadows of the ship's loading compartment. "Whoever that is in there, this is Commander McCormack of the UEF military – come out nice and slow..."_

_What emerged from the shadows was neither nice nor slow; a middle-aged woman in a blood-spattered lab coat tore down the ramp as if the Devil were at her heels. Her face was ashen, a startling contrast to her fiery red hair, her green eyes pale, almost glazed in delirious fear._

_"Seal it up!" she cried, he voice strained with a terrified sense of dire urgency that chilled Kenny's blood as the Response teams once again raised their guns to meet her. "For God's sake, seal it back up! You can't let them loose – don't let them escape!"_

..........

_His voice trailed off at the sight of what met his eyes; the figure across from him was human – or, at least, had once been human. Its skin was a mottled orange, flesh peeling off or even completely missing in places. Blood was splashed all over its clothing, and smeared around its twitching mouth. Its eyes were bloodshot, pupils little more than piercing pinpoints. When it growled at him, its split and bleeding lips parted to reveal rows of sharpened teeth, pink, human flesh caught in-between, vile green saliva frothing and spraying with each snarling breath. It was_ definitely _no longer human...._

* * *

How's **THAT** for a traditional 'Next Week' Montage? :D

Now, for what I would like to be a regular feature at the end of all my episodes - something I call the 'Whoniverse Showcase!' Below is a short list of great Doctor Who fanfics - or, in the case of a LOT of great fics (you know who you are, Laura and Fishie!), great Who-authors! Click them, read them, love them - and let them know what you think!

Firebreathingfishies: .net/u/1452365/firebreathingfishies - This veritable superstar of Who fanfic is has just started breaking into their SECOND season! What does the future hold for the Doctor in their hands? Read and find out - you won't be disappointed! Let them know I pointed you in their direction, so they know I ain't dead ;)

Laura Harkness: .net/u/1484900/Laura_Harkness - I'm currently reading through 'Scars' and loving every chapter, but she also has 23 other Who and Torchwood works for you to marvel over. Do it, do it NOW! :D

The Frozen War, by Avid Flash: .net/s/5376290/1/ - A very spooky and claustrophobic story! When they arrive at a alien museum, can the Doctor and Martha figure out why the other visitors are vanishing all around them...only to be found later in the artwork of the museum's exhibits? I love this...

Well, that's all for now! Be sure to check out the 'Showcase' at the end of 'Starbase' - hey, that rhymed!

Dave


End file.
